No Light
by Book Jade
Summary: Bruce is an expert at running, and he will find out the hard way that Tony is just as good at chasing. However, sometimes merely pursuing what you want isn't enough. Rated M for future chapters.
1. No Hat

A/N: It's been a while since I've been inspired to write fanfiction. xD Please read and review (Suggestions are also very welcome)! That keeps my muses happy. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

They actually went along with it. That was what surprised Tony the most. He guessed, though, that everyone was just too tired and worn to argue with someone who was willing to take the lead for the next step forward.

So they all met at the shawarma place he'd mentioned and had a feast that could beat Thanksgiving in nearly dead silence—which, ironically, was warmer and happier than any Thanksgiving Tony had ever had. Slumped in hard plastic chairs around a table that tilted every time Thor knocked his large knee against it, they ate out of plates of meshed plastic and wax wrap. Maybe there was more to say than what had been said, but it wasn't said.

His syrup dark eyes moved from one Avenger to the next, seeing a dead fatigue in all of them. Soot, the smell of fire clung to their clothes, their armor, and their uniforms. Dried blood painted Roger's temple, and it had to ache, it had to be thrumming like the old, whining motor of the ceiling fan that was keeping a decent airflow in the cramped little venue.

Tony himself looked relaxed, but only because he knew if he moved too quickly, his body would scream in pain. Sometimes it was hard for him to remember he was only human—even before Iron Man ever came to be.

There was only one person among them who had any light left in his eyes, and that was Bruce. Leaning over his food, holding his lamb wrap in both hands in a meticulous way as to not spill a bit of it, he sort of looked like an animal that was waiting to be disturbed at any moment. The thin, unassuming man in secondhand clothes didn't have a mark on him. The Other Guy's regenerative abilities were unspoken of; able to wipe clean any injuries made on him before or after his big appearances. And what an appearance he'd made today. _God, what an appearance he'd made today. _His chest warmed knowing that he'd known it all along; he knew Banner would show up to strut. But now it also made Bruce look odd, out of place, different from everyone else.

Though one could say that was already the case in Tony's perspective.

Their eyes met, because Banner could feel the low heat of his stare against the side of his unshaven face. He knew when he was being stared at because it happened all the time once people knew who he was.

Tony's throat clenched shut slowly, but Bruce didn't look away. His eyes were only shades lighter than Stark's, but revealed more than he ever allowed his face to. Tony knew suddenly that was why he never made eye contact. But now he was caught dead on in the rays, and he had no idea what he was seeing, but it was killing him. Whatever light was shining there was making it hard for Tony to breathe. It wasn't even light; it was just…not dark. Half hidden, half exposed, half waiting, half hoping.

He broke the stare first—for just a second, _he just needed a second to collect himself_, but when he returned it was only in time to see Bruce's gaze drift forward to the table and then down, shielded by thick, gentle brows, spiked lashes and a firm pressed mouth that spread, not smiling, but accepting everything the way it was.

His mouth slipped open, but nothing came out but a slow, shaky breath and he just reached for his Coke and took a long draw from it, not saying anything.

He would regret that decision for a long time.

When it came time to leave, it was already dark and the city around them was dotted with lights and sirens from emergency vehicles speeding back and forth, weaving through streamers of yellow tape and flares that mocked the stars. They all went their separate ways, but Tony turned to Bruce instead of getting into the company car that was sitting on the curb waiting open for him.

"Hey. Um…Kolkata. That's a long walk, big guy, you know? So I was thinking, you should come back to the Tower for the night." (Or every night; Tony wanted that to be implied so dearly, but he knew it wasn't.) "Beats a bunk in a cell at S.H.I.E.L.D, at least. Right?" _Wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say_, he could feel Bruce tensing up from here. "No really, though. We'll pop in Wizard of Oz and have a few laughs on Cap; or I dunno, just sleep for maybe six days. Then I can show you the R&D like I promised. It'll be great."

"Yeah?" Bruce asked the crusty sidewalk, though it wasn't really a question. But it wasn't 'no'. Tony grinned, putting his hands together as the curly haired man looked up at him. "No surprises?"

"Yeah. No surprises. Just like I promised."

"Okay." It was a ghost of a word, but it drove the billionaire's sense of victory over the ledge. Bruce made a move towards him and then stopped, running a hand through his mess of hair. Some brick dust wiped off on his palm and he seemed to come to a realization. "Ah, forgot my hat inside. Be back in a second."

Stark didn't even question it as he got in the car and relaxed in the back seat, told the driver to turn up the song that was playing currently, drumming his fingers to the tune upon the car door. By the time the third song started up, though, his face was slack and his eyes were darker than ever, glistening silently. By the end of it, he hated himself for not knowing Rhodey's birthday and the fact that Pepper was allergic to strawberries.

Because it took him that long to realize Bruce hadn't been wearing a hat.


	2. 10 Months Later

_10 Months Later_

_France_

"How do I look?"

"You look good."

"That isn't the _least _bit helpful."

"Well, that's how you look."

Pepper was entirely unfazed as she stood before Tony and finished fixing up the silk tie around his neck, cinching it up to the perfect blend of professional and smooth looking. Meanwhile, the owner of Stark Industries tossed his glance every which way, cool from a distance, always cool; but apprehensive as he complained under his breath to her.

"What tie did you just put on me?"

"You can see for yourself, Mr. Stark," she replied cordially, perking a ginger brow.

"And have everyone think I don't know which tie I'm wearing?"

"The red one with the gray diamond pattern."

"I hate this tie." He sounded a little offended.

"Next time pick out your own ties."

"You_ know _I hate this tie."

"Obviously I must hate you."

"I knew it." He glanced down at her, his lips twitching slightly. "How did the crowd look?"

"Excited. Like they want to see you, and hear you give a lecture hall speech on bionic engineering. In French."

"Great, great. Good." Their eyes met, and then flickered off each other. "Sounds like fun." He bounced slightly on the soles of his expensive shoes as she finished touching up a part of his face makeup. "Anyone interesting out there?"

"No." They both knew what he meant. "Tony—"

"Sounds like I'm up," he said suddenly, looking toward the pulled curtain. Only after did he hear the announcer prepare to call his name. "You're the best, Pep." He blew her a kiss and sauntered out onto stage, upon which moment he came to life, grin blown over his face and his arms outstretched to receive the applause he expected and also received.

"_Bonjour mes amis, bonne soiree_! Absolutely."


	3. Not the Same Mistake Twice

The lecture and the rest of the convention went off without a hitch. His French was a little rusty, but his audience was very forgiving with the avatar of the Iron Man and ate up every word he said. It was amusing how even at what were supposed to be professional lectures he still ended putting on a show.

The banquet afterward was fantastic, and it was easy to get lost in the crowd of scientists and engineers that were just waiting for a chance to pick his brain. But that was the thing about scientists; either they were really arrogant, or they stayed to themselves, secure enough in their research to know they didn't need validation from a celebrity. And there were plenty of those.

Yeah, there were plenty of people, too many people. So when everyone had their fill of him, he stayed off to the side and entertained the fantasies of some very pretty girl who'd come along as a guest of their father's and had been very bored otherwise. He put on his most dashing camera smile and watched her go tipsy at every word she said, his fingers entwined around a glass of whatever had been going around on the serving platter. It looked like champagne.

Tony glanced around at the dozen faces, smile still stamped there on his mouth as he reflected Pepper's words, the ones she had been about to say but he hadn't let her. The same words she'd said when they were in Bangkok, and Sweden, and the entire grand tour of countries he'd flocked to giving demonstrations on how Stark Industries had the right stuff to share with the rest of the world.

This wasn't working. It hadn't ever worked.

"Monsieur Stark? _Quelle que soit mauvais_?"

He came back to reality and saw the pretty young woman on his arm looking up at him, her lips pressed to the edge of her champagne glass while her eyes bulged with curiosity. She'd been speaking English previously, but seeing him respond to the sudden switch in language made her smile flirtatiously and chuckle.

"Uh, nothing. Just realized I'm demonstrating the definition of insanity."

She looked confused. Of course she did. He gave a patient roguish grin and took a long draw from his champagne; he embraced the dizzy tide the bubbles brought.

"Heh, yeah. Like I said, it's nothing. Anyway…"

—-

Pepper didn't wait up for him that night; she rarely did anymore and it wasn't like they were sharing a room. He eventually returned to the hotel at around a quarter to five, when the streets were emptying of the night life and the bakers were waking up. He slipped off his tailored suit jacket and toed out of his shoes and sat on the bed with with intent to take off his socks, but instead he just fell back onto the soft mattress, and decided it wouldn't be so bad to sleep this way.

It had been almost a year since the Avenger Initiative had sent the Chitauri back through the portal opened over New York city, and saved it from nuclear attack. Well, he'd done that last part. Entirely on his own, he liked to add. Well, he was the only one who could. He was the only one who could fly, though the Hulk certainly tried.

Banner. No wonder the U.S. Army had lost him for five years, S.H.I.E.L.D. a little less than that. He'd disappeared without a trace. No cell phone, no credit cards. No I.D. They were assuming he was well out of States by now, but just where, well no one knew.

No one.

Shortly after, S.H.I.E.L.D. had said it would only be a matter of time, that they had bases stationed all over the world and that's how they had tracked him down the last time in Kolkata without him even noticing. He'd walked into a cash and carry without a hat on and a tapped camera picked up his facial profile. Fury had been confident he'd slip eventually and be back on the radar.

But ten months later, _nothing_. Which was of no surprise to Tony at all because it wouldn't be like Banner to make the same mistake twice.

He turned his head to the side and his dark, slightly drunken eyes followed down the course of his clothed arm, hand relaxed and open to the ceiling. In the silence, he heard the steady thrum of the arc reactor in his chest, his own calm, measured breathing.

No. Banner would never make the same mistake twice.


	4. High and Dry

_One Week Later_

He skipped out on a morning conference meeting and decided to take a personal day. What use was being in France if you couldn't relax? Jesus, he hadn't been to Paris in years. No thanks to Pepper or the insane scheduling she put him through, and the insensitivity to his birthday. Or the fact that he'd been dying. Then again, everyone had sort of glossed over that.

So when Pep called at around ten, asking him where the hell he was, he honestly said, "Not at the conference," with a tone of admittance, glancing around the outdoor cafe he was currently sitting at with his coffee steaming upon the small table beside him while he played Galaga on his phone.

_"Yeah, I noticed that. You could warn me that you'll be a no show before you...you know-don't show. Just saying, it makes my job just a little bit harder and...are you-playing __**Galaga **__while talking to me on speaker?"_

He was.

"That doesn't matter. Look. You have my fullest confidence, Pep. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. C'mon, I've been good all week. Loosen the leash a little. Leisure is the basis of culture; I don't know _how _you keep forgetting that."

_"I know,"_ she said sardonically,_ "Clearly I'm in the wrong here. What do you want me to tell Klepher?"_

He made a non-committal noise, leaning slight as though it would veer his ship in the right way faster. "Tell him to change his name, first off;_ god_," he muttered.

_"Tony."_

Silence.

_"Tony!"_

Game over. He sighed. "Yes! What? Tell him I'll see him for drinks tonight to apologize. Or something. Whatever he's into."

_"What? Have you even been here this week? You can't make it tonight, you have the-"_

"Au revoir, mon cheri," he cut her off in a mock-cheery way.

_"I am really tired of-"_ Her frustrations were cut off with a press of a button. Ah, technology.

Pepper sighed outside the conference hall, pulling the phone from her ear just in time to see the call end. Unbelievable. He was being just a little more impossible than usual, and once again, his mess was defying gravity and falling into her lap. "You have _got _to be kidding me."

"What's the matter? Stark taking a rain check?"

"No-" she turned quickly, closing her phone. Rain colored eyes set upon an older gentleman in a well fitting States uniform, and she smiled, relaxing slightly as she appraised him. "I mean...yes. I mean," She shut her eyes patiently, pushed back her ire at Tony, and continued, "An important matter came to Mr. Stark's attention that he had to address."

"Of course," the elder gentleman nodded cordially, giving her a winning smile. His hair used to be blond, but now it sat a bit salty on his head, as well as his mustache. He sounded like he completely understood on a level most didn't. "Mr. Stark is a busy man. But you, young lady, I've heard you're essentially him in spirit."

"Essentially." Her teeth flashed genuinely and she chuckled. "That's...well, that's one way to put it." The man chuckled with her, and extended his hand. She took it and he squeezed courteously. "Pepper Potts."

"General Thaddeus Ross."

"General Ross," she repeated carefully. "Wow. It's good to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Miss Potts. Actually, you're just the person I wanted to see."

She squeezed his hand in return, and the color drained from her smiling face.


	5. Off the Record

Their cups of coffee sat mostly undrunk upon the polished edge of the bar, unparallel as Ross kept his at length, and Pepper kept hers close, cupped along the palm of her hand as they conversed. While he'd made it clear he had been looking for her, they discoursed mainly about trifle things-the weather, the drone of Kephler's voice, old classmates. Pepper would have been made completely at ease, if she hadn't known exactly who he was.

However, this wasn't her first unwilling conversation or heated situation, so her fair features remained as polished as the bar, unfaltering and cool in a way that her employer had never mastered, but had inspired.

"I have to say, I was very surprised a couple of years back when you were put in charge of Stark Industries. But I gotta ask, Miss Potts-"

"Pepper's fine," she assured him, smiling easily.

"Pepper," he amended, nodding over the rim of his wide cup of black coffee. "What brought that on, exactly? Not that I think the decision was unwise in the least."

More shared chuckling. She cocked her eyebrows and rolled her eyes gently.

"Well, as you probably know I resigned that position back to him shortly after," she reminded him as she put together her next words carefully. "But you know Tony."

"Not as well as I'd like to." His oddly blue eyes twinkled beneath the worry lines that sculpted his sockets. "I think you would have made a fine CEO on a permanent basis. Our boys are still a little sore at Stark for ending his weapons industry." He leaned on the bar. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a chance of that starting up again, or...?"

_You know damn well there isn't._ "Most likely not," she replied. "We've been geared towards futurist technologies, mostly defensive and support engineering." It was a little interesting, and also relieving, that they both seemed willing to dance around the Iron Man topic. For now. "And it's actually been working rather well for us. In the perceivable future, Stark Industries has no reason to restart our weapons line."

She flashed a soft, rehearsed smile, and could almost feel Tony patting her on the head.

"I see. I guess times really are changing." He looked away, seeming to become lost in thought as his gaze swept over the crowded brunch room. "There used to be no question about how to defend your country. Get a gun, defend it. Now there are...theories and options open. I guess that's a good thing, but..." When he looked back at her, she had her phone in hand, thumbing away at her keypad.

"Am I that boring?" he joked mildly, and she looked up apologetically.

"Oh, I-no. Sorry. It's just Tony. Pestering me about the conference," she explained under her breath, shaking her head as she pushed in a button to send her sixth unanswered text message to him. "Really, I wish he could be interested AND present."

"You're too good for him, you know." He winked. "But like I was saying, I guess it's a good thing. But this...peace he's looking for. Privatizing world peace, that's what he said right?" He leaned forward. "Do you agree with that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you really think Stark should have the sole responsibility of the Iron Man technology?"

She paused, trying to act confused. "It's really not my place to-"

"Just between you and me, then. Off the record."

"Well, he did create it. Entirely by himself. And, he's proven time and time again, in my opinion, capable of-"

"I'm just worried, Pepper." Ross spoke her name fondly, voice low. "I'm worried for him, because that makes him outnumbered against all sorts of people. At least with the...incident in New Mexico, my men had the backing of the federal government even after everything went to hell."

Pepper wasn't careful enough. "Well, you were trying to distort nature. Tony just makes better tools."

"Is that what you think of Dr. Banner?" he came back, suddenly very interested in making eye contact with her. "That he's a distortion of nature?"

She stared at him through the mess of the words he'd thrown back at her, nearly losing her poker face.

"Stark Industries has-no official opinion of the fugitive Bruce Banner. He's not really relevant to our interests as a company either way. I don't believe he's ever been."

Ross sat back in his stool seat, taking a long draw from his cup as he mulled over her words. "That's good," he said finally, his winning smile and his gentlemanly air taking on a sweet razor edge. He set the cup aside and folded his time-calloused hands over the chest of his trim uniform. "Because between you and me-off the record, of course-that'll make things easier for all of us."

Her pulse thrummed in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

When she heard a cellular phone's twinkling ring, she lifted hers up off the bar a little too quickly, but it wasn't hers ringing. The elder gentleman calmly removed a Nokia from the breast pocket of his uniform, and smiled at the screen fondly.

"Ah, it's my little girl. I'd better take this one. You understand."

"Of course, please-"

"It was excellent meeting you. Tell Stark to drop me a line, would ya?"

"Of course."

"I'm interested in discussing a med-tech deal with him."

"Absolutely."

"Great." He rose and flipped the phone open. "Betty," he answered warmly as he moved across and out of the room. "You'll never guess who I just spoke to-"

Pepper kept her smile pasted on even after he left. She waited a few moments, then stood up and also left the bar in long, relaxed and professional strides, hitting punching Tony's speed dial.

And by the time she'd disappeared into the ladies' restroom, Ross had strode casually down the hallway to the conference lobby, a fatherly smile on his face as he spoke to 'Betty'.

"You can go ahead and get the boys in position now. We're all finished here."


	6. No Taste of Rain

The sky was overcast, but there was no taste of rain in the air as it drew to noon. Something smelled like it was cooking, though, wafting from the bistro, or one of them, on this street. The sidewalks were full, but not crowded, of people going along their way in a not-so-rushed manner; tourists stopped to take pictures, or gawk at the scenery. A car yelped to a halt to avoid bumping into one who'd stopped to do just that in the street, and shamed them along their way without honking and that was all.

A couple sat on a bench close together sharing a bag of dried blueberries; well, maybe they weren't a couple, but it looked like they might be soon. They looked like they weren't from around here, they looked like they could be from anywhere, anyone, like the change of scenery was getting to them.

Then there were people of all walks, waiting for the bus to come. And it was just a normal day.

Then the girl a few people back in the line broke free from her mother without the woman noticing, entranced by a moth-not even a butterfly, just a colorful moth-and ran out into the street, gawking upward as it flew out of reach and not behind her where the car was.

* * *

He wasn't sure just what it was about leisure that Pepper didn't understand. His phone buzzed against his fingers intervally, text after text, but he was surfing the internet and other important' things so he didn't bother looking at them. Really, he should have been enjoying the scenery or chatting up the natives and letting his mind rest as he gently absorbed yet another culture, but screw that. His mind was buzzing like a hive of angry bees and nothing seemed to be soothing it.

It did that when he was frustrated.

And even being apathetic in response to his frustration was frustrating him.

So when finally his browsing/Galaga/coffee fueled personal day was yet again interrupted by Pepper's face taking up the screen, he picked up and nearly struck himself in the ear with the electronic device, going "What?"

_"Tony, where are you?"_

"_Still_ not at the conference."

_"Damnit, Tony, have you seen anything I sent you? This is serious, listen-"_

Car brakes squealed on the street right near the cluster of tables, next to the bus stop, the noise of metal being jolted back by tight suspension. Tony looked up out of reflex; there was nothing to worry about though, just some little girl ran out into the street-a man had jumped out and grabbed her just in time, and the car stopped as well. All unharmed. It was fine.

_"You need to get back here right now. General Ross was just here and-"_

The man grasped the girl who was crying out of shock, not hurt but already red and wetfaced, and he was trying to calm her, knelt down to her height and holding her by the shoulders. His French wasn't native. He was wearing a slicker and a hat and it wasn't raining. It didn't even taste like rain.

"Vous êtes bien ... vous devez être prudent."

_"-where he went, but he might be back, and he's asking all sorts of-"_

The mother got off her phone with a gasped curse and rushed to the curb, grabbing the little girl up in her arms and profusely thanking him and scolding her daughter at the same time. She was feeling her for wounds that weren't there while the man tried to back off, holding up his hand in a dismissive effort to wave away the praise. Not in the modest way. Seriously. The mother was just overreacting because she knew it was her fault and it could have been worse.

_"-and I really don't like the feel of it."_

The mother crushed her daughter between two bodies as she hugged the man, despite the fact his hands were dirty. He bent awkwardly, arms out. The hood of the slicker fell back, leaving only the hat.

_"I think he knows where he is."_

Tony's eyes went inky black and the phone fell away from his ear.

_"Are you still..."_

A filthy Bruce Banner stammered in French that it was nothing, nothing at all.


	7. Make Me Chase You

A/N: Wow, I had only originally meant for this to be three chapters long. Now it's seven, and I have no plans on stopping yet. Thank you for all the kind reviews, please feel free to keep doing so! 3

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"I do," Tony whispered into the phone finally. "I know where he is."

Life passed by around him, all the same old noises and smells and people. No one was very concerned with the near accident. It was something that happened only too often. Eventually, the mother was convinced there was nothing more she needed to do for the vagrant man and got onto the bus that had just pulled in with her little girl.

Even though he'd been standing in line before, he didn't get on now, he shuffled down the curb of the sidewalk a little until the bus pulled away with its new passengers and then shuffled back to his spot to wait for the next one. He pulled off his hat and slid the heel of his palm up the side of his unshaven face, rubbing his eye, combing back his mess of hair, and then tugged it back down over his head.

Then suddenly their eyes met, because Banner could feel the low heat of his stare against the side of his face. He knew when he was being stared at, because it happened all the time once people knew who he was.

(And there was this moment, where in the back of his mind Tony was thinking that he'd been here before, this same moment somewhere else; and also that there was a time when his dad was alive and used to go hunting with his friends like a normal guy back when he felt like doing that, and there was a time that Tony wanted to go, begged to go, and Howard said _absolutely not, the boy'll move too soon, scare away the game_.)

Bruce's haggard face went slack, eyes uncharacteristically wide and vacant. The moisture in the whites of his eyes were the cleanest part of him. Tony's throat clenched shut, but he didn't look away, not again. They just seemed to take each other in for a moment. As much as someone could take in someone else from yards away.

Then Tony stood up and he proved his father right.

The other man turned quickly, started striding quickly across the street. A car screeched to a stop and this one did honk in irritation. It ripped the inhibition off of his throat like a strip of duct tape.

"Bruce!"

Bruce took off running at full speed.

Tony nearly knocked over the little table he'd been sitting at going after him, suitcase in hand.

People were shoved to the side as the doctor barreled onward, ruddy sneakers pounding the pavement. Fuck, he could run! After a block and a half Tony could feel the air burning in his lungs and his feet pinching in the toes of his dress shoes, but Bruce wasn't about to make it any easier. Suddenly he ducked into a narrow alleyway and disappeared from sight. People stopped, looked in his wake oddly, then dodged his pursuer with surprised stares and yelps.

"Don't know how you didn't see me, move it, thanks!"

Tony veered around the corner and nearly ran into a trash can, stopping and changing course just enough so only the lid spun off by being struck by his side. He cursed, stumbled around, and kept going, the loss of momentum leaving him panting. Banner was already nearing the end of the alley, climbing up and over a chained fence with hardly any effort at all and let himself fall to the ground in a way that had to be painful. He rolled out of the slicker, it was getting in his way. Tony reached the fence, nearly slamming into it, as Bruce was up and already running again.

"Don't make me chase you, Banner!" he shouted through the links, but it was an empty threat. "Wait!" _Now you're just wasting fucking air._

It was like Bruce didn't even hear him, or was choosing not to.

He tried to make the climb, but doing it with his suitcase in hand was impossible. His heart pounded beneath its metal core, and his dress shoes slipped from the hexagonal links clumsily. He wasn't unfit by any means, but he definitely was neither prepared nor dressed for on foot pursuit. Every moment _not _over this fence was a moment Bruce had to disappear again, perhaps for the last time. He'd already disappeared from sight.

He grunted back to his feet, prepared to throw the suitcase over.

The suitcase.

_Oh, yeah._

So when he saw Bruce again, it was from three stories above, the sound of the repulsor jets very distinct against the calm city background. Banner was already two blocks down, but swung around and staggered when he heard the noise. From up here, he looked like a small and frightened animal. Tony's temper had flared too high to control, and in this moment, that made him smug.

Because he'd waited so long in that car, waited for Bruce to come back and it would have been fine, if Bruce had just_ come back_, had a change of heart, realized what he was doing was wrong and stupid and hurting everyone who cared about him-hurt_ him_. And he'd looked for him for such a long time, and now here he was running again. Ready to vanish again without a single word. Without so much as a goodbye.

He wanted to scream, track him down, shake him; he wanted to wipe the words from his mouth and give him a reason not to a afford a single word.

He wanted him to stop. Running. _Please._

The crowds below panicked and spread. Bruce momentarily dodged out of sight in the fray, in the mess of people and then down another alleyway. This time though, his path was blocked by the metal meteor that arced over the ornate buildings and fell from the sky.

Iron Man crouched, crunching the pavement, then stood to full height, a frightening and beautiful chimaera of crimson, gold, man and energy. Tony ground his teeth together and thrust out his palm, the glowing repulsor shining unnaturally; a slow upward whine betrayed its charge.

"Do _not _make me chase you, Banner." His growl was droned by the voice feed, warping the emotion, making it terrifying.

The HUD focused on Bruce's grizzled head, his dark, frightened eyes, and the sensors remotely picked up his vitals. The audio feed sent sharp, gaping breaths that weren't his into his ears and spiked his chest. It was just enough to make him pause, make him lapse in anger, make him think (for a few nanoseconds) about what he was doing. What it looked like, what it had to look like. _God, the look on his face_.

It was enough for Bruce to call his bluff, and duck into the rickety kitchen entrance beside him.

The subreactor dimmed as he curled his empowered hand into a fist.

"Damnit, Bruce!"

Bursting into an old bistro kitchen in the middle of the daytime in a foreign country in a full Mark suit probably wasn't the best idea. Although, they had already dealt with the stress of having what they referred to as a homeless person bounding through and knocking over one of their waiters before crawling down into their wine cellar, so they were willing to suspend their beliefs a little as a full armored metal man followed said vagrant.

It was easier thought than done, but thankfully he wasn't in the Mark VII. His "suit"case was a little more compact, and he awkwardly slid himself down through the small hatch into the cellar where he expected to find the man trapped, but instead the basement led out into an pathway. It looked like it had been covered up with crates that had been very recently been pushed aside.

"The hell...?"

Jarvis spoke up. _'Sir, this particular cellar appears to lead into the winding network of tunnels, aqueducts, crypts and chambers that make up the underground catacombs beneath Paris.'_

"Of course it is. Can you get me a readout?"

_'I'm afraid a large part of this labyrinth that hasn't been renovated for tourist attraction is widely undocumented. I'll do what I can. Activating nightvision and recalibrating heat sensors.'_

As he waded into the darkness beyond the wine racks, suddenly he was able to see everything, and the slightest traces of Bruce's sneaker heels imprinted in mild splotches on the floor, orangeish trails on the walls where he'd felt along blindly only moments ago. It occurred to Tony the man hadn't been wearing his glasses. He was only that much more blind here.

Not to mention he'd be tired, and he was probably holed up somewhere trying to get his heart rate under control.

"That'll work, too."

_'Please watch your step, sir.'_


	8. Only For the Dead to Pass

A/N: I just wanted to stop and say thank you. I feel like I have the most wonderful readers. 3 I really hope I continue to entertain. Lots of feels in this chapter. Took a suggestion from a reviewer, and one particular line is dedicated to the awesome Kysis, whose fics you should definitely read (especially Bitter Sirens). R/R! Story's far from over. :)

* * *

_Don't make me __**chase**__ you._

It was bad enough he hadn't slept in days.

_Don't __**make **__me chase you._

It was bad enough he knew that in some extent he was in the wrong here, and this was a long time coming because yes, he had lied, he knew it was wrong (but really? not really, because it was safer for everyone if he-).

_Do __**not **__make me chase you._

It was bad enough that the careful exodus he'd been making over the past year to a place that didn't know him had just been torn to shreds in seconds by one brilliant man dumbly shouting his name for all of a Paris neighborhood to hear.

It was bad enough he was already_ being _chased, was_ always _being chased.

But to hear the threat, those words, that mouth, that_ sound_; arranged just so, it flooded his neurons and sent thorny spikes of horror deep, deep down below to assail that small casket of lurking memory in him so tightly bound that even the other guy was impressed with the control he wasted on that alone.

But he couldn't think about that now. One foot and then the other, one wall and then the next. One street and then the next. One breath and then the other.

If only it could be so easy now.

If it had ever been easy.

He couldn't see a thing, barreling full speed into a darkness he couldn't fathom. He slammed full on against a wall at one point, fell, crawled to his feet, and ran again. Flaring heat riddled his hands where he scraped for purchase. The beaten strap of plastic on his wrist had stopped making any sounds ages ago after getting water in it, but he didn't need to see the digits to know he was soaring over the precipice, ticking toward that magic number, the perfect calibration that persuaded his cells verdant.

His hand thrust to the wall. His fingers sank into sharp edges, blank space. His brain told him it was a skull.

Breaths grew ragged and weighed down his insides. So badly he wanted to stop. But the running almost helped him fight it. Because the world was spinning in the opposite direction in which he was running. If he stopped for a moment-just for a moment-he'd be thrown off.

A stretch of his arm suddenly gave way to emptiness, but only barely passable if he turned sideways. He did. The space was small, cramped at first, then dropped two feet without warning. Bruce fell hard on his knees, bit back a cry and curled onto his elbows to mitigate the pain. Belly caving, inflating like the man had taught him, bringing air from the place of reason and calm, he forced upward and embraced the wall. The flesh beneath his skin crawled but stayed his own, in his control.

The wall was filled with smooth foreheads and empty eyes that couldn't see him, couldn't see anything, couldn't even if they were full; he breathed erratic, feverish life into those who had not known life in centuries. It was too dark. Safe, warm dark.

Through the pounding drums his ears had become, he still managed the sound of metal footfalls closing in behind him, but at a slower speed. Clumsy. Large. Bruce was small. Had always been smaller. Weaker. Smarter?

If he was so smart, why couldn't he find a way out?

Why couldn't he make Stark understand?

_Don't make me chase you, Banner._

Starlight flashed along the winding walls for brief clusters of moments. He bent away from it too easily, clinging to the wall, trying with his all to stay the same, stay hidden and stay breathing at the same time. He dared to let his eyes travel toward it, face still pressed to the cold, misshapen wall in the crypt he'd fallen into. The arc reactor's light spilled and peaked along the gaunt faces of the long since dead, the walls crafted of sediment and pelvic bones. The mechanical sways were jerky, uncertain. If Tony only had that light to guide him, even as bright as it was-it wouldn't do him any good in this maze.

Bruce stayed still, held his breath, and waited.

He waited for what felt like the longest time.

He didn't think he'd ever waited this long.

* * *

Maybe Howard would have brought him after all, because apparently he was good at tracking wounded game.

His readouts kept getting midirected by the vast amount of human skulls tucked neatly into the walls, but the heat trails grew brighter with every stain.

Then they painted the very narrow threshold of an archway leading into a small alcove, large enough only for the dead to pass, bright orange and red streaks against shattered bones and pale brick. And he could hear the man breathing. Even if the audio feed didn't pick up the tiniest of sounds, he would have been able to on his own in this howling silence.

Tony didn't call it right away when he saw him. He played ignorant on purpose, because it was apparent Bruce had no idea he was looking right at him, saw him clearly as day. The doctor was pressed to the wall, almost cheek to cheek with a dry, cracked skull. His mouth slacked open, then pressed into that tight, stupid damn accepting line before it cracked in half, shoulders quaking, but slowly. Proud even in the dark when he thought nothing could see.

Unfocused pupils swirled with green, and then streaked wet down his haggard face, clenched shut. Tony shifted his heel and Bruce stopped breathing.

Only then did he really wake up, and realize what he was doing, what this looked like. Only then did it click.

Bruce thought he was being hunted.

And...he really was right now, wasn't he?

'Sir, according to the remote sensory readings, Dr. Banner's pulse is remaining at roughly one hundred and forty five beats per-'

"Mute," he whispered. He could see the damn reading.

"Breathe, big guy." He called out. "I can't find you-" _World's biggest lie_-"-but I can hear you not breathing." His voice echoed through the space that was so much more vast than it seemed. "Come out, wherever you are. Come on, Bruce, I just want to-"

"You want to_ what_?"

Tony's breath hitched in surprise. What came back at him wasn't the pleading of a cornered, helpless animal. It wasn't even the Other Guy. It was Bruce's full voice, demanding, rough with fatigue, searing hot, bounding against the winding corridors. If he had really not seen him, he still wouldn't have been able to find him-his voice felt like it was coming from everywhere.

Sharp, harsh breaths rushed in and out and around those cold words.

"What, you want to_ talk_ Stark? What the_ hell_ do you want to talk about that involves shooting me?"

"You fuckhead, I wasn't going to shoot you," Tony snapped. Wrong thing, wrong thing to say.

"Oh, that explains the heavy artillery armor you're suddenly wearing. My mistake." His tone was so caustic it could have eaten through the alloy of the suit, even as he struggled to breathe. "_Don't lie to me!_"

The first and only warning, and he ignored it.

"You first!" Tony growled, slipping again. "By the way, d'you ever find your 'hat'?"

It happened in less than a blink. He didn't even see the change. It just looked like a distortion of the nightvision. The tearing of clothes sounded like a glitch, like static in the HUD.

Then the Hulk's massive arm, almost neon in the nightvision, was leaping from the darkness, hand gnarled open to swat him.


	9. Hate Being Right

His first thought as that gigantic limb came swinging at him was that that had definitely not been the best mode of discourse for this particular situation. This he could definitely admit. You know, he'd gotten better at that admitting thing in the past few years.

The second being that he had never actually seen the doctor Hulk out before; he had no idea how sudden it could be. Yeah, he'd been nearby for two events, but he hadn't actually been in eyeshot. He really hadn't been paying complete attention for this transformation either. _Damnit!_

The third thought-because he was alive long enough to have one-was that he was still alive and thinking.

He knew because he could feel his heart trying to rip out of his body through his spine completely of its own volition. Tony could almost feel the tug against the wires and the vibranium core.

He had thrown himself back just enough for him to miss, and the Hulk didn't follow. Instead, the massive limb retreated back into the alcove, and the monster showed his face in the narrow archway, bared blunt, thick teeth that were only shadow-reminiscent of the doctor who had retreated within. Hazel eyes, poisoned green, studded in a face of rage, features twisted to resemble the creature of children's nightmares.

He roared and the very walls shook, dust spilling about. Tony thrust back against the wall, collecting himself, aiming his hand out of reflex (that slow upward whine-).

But there was this half of a moment (because full moments no longer mattered, too slow) where he knew he'd been here before, staring up at the clear sky shuddering as the icy grip subsided and the warmth came rushing back, scared back into him by the clarion call of-

And then something hit him hard-not the Hulk, but a sudden realization.

And he laughed.

He laughed really hard.

Tony roared back, gave it his best-and then gasped for breath, keening with laughter.

The green rage monster's eyes went wide with the closest thing to surprise Hulk could know.

"I'm sorry, Big Guy. I'm sorry. I just..._mreow_!" he swatted back, mimicking the way he'd swiped at him. "Come on. Not even a love tap? Because I've really been meaning to test out the durability of this model. I mean, it's already been well tested against massive voltage, but I'm not sure how it holds up against blunt-"

Hulk growled.

"HULK SMASH!"

"Yes! Correct. Um, Hulk _would _smash," he held up a metal finger matter of factly. "But Hulk _won't_ smash, because while_ Hulk _would not hesitate to smash,_ Bruce Banner _has the wherewithall to understand we're standing in a very old and beloved piece of French history-and that's why we're not buried under rubble and bones right now, isn't it?" Tony grinned almost coldly beneath the metal mask. "Because a little fucking door isn't going to stop _Hulk_." He strode forward, confident.

"PUNY TIN MAN. SHUT. UP!" he bellowed.

"Make me!"

Hulk thrust forward, the archway breaking up a little, and lashed out again. This time Tony didn't move. He knew the suit could take it-sure, it'd still be a trip, but he'd had worse. His eyes shut on reflex, but the blow never came. He looked up just in time to see a flash of coherent panic on the creature's face, the hand curling into a frustrated fist. He snarled, but the Iron Man was unfazed.

"Just what I thought," Tony challenged, sneering. His footfalls thudded, gears whining as he approached the archway again; he was far too large to get through in the suit. "Your hatches are all battened down, aren't they Big Guy? Im-fucking-pressive."

God, he even _sounded _smug. That's how smug he was. It riddled through Tony, made him feel_ good, _made him feel _excellent. _Like when he publically ridiculed Christine when she tried to smear him and ended up bedding her the next day. Like revealing Hammer Industries' horrifying attempts to recreate his technology in a room full of federal judges when _he _was the one on trial.

"It was close, I'll bet it was really close, but you Hulked on purpose. What were you trying to do, scare me off?" He sounded mean, he sounded like a bully. He didn't give a damn.

The enormous green man then ground his teeth together and crouched away from the narrow archway, retreated from the dim light Tony gave off, a low dangerous growl rippling in his chest the way the muscles in his chest twitched and rippled. There was a want in his eyes, a want to hurt and a want to tear apart, but there was also something empty, something broken. Something very tired.

The satisfied smirk slowly bled off of Tony's lips-not that Hulk could see him either way with his visor still down. Suddenly, he wasn't sure what he was so happy about.

Because he was, of course, right. Because for anyone else, the sight of Hulk alone would have been enough to send them running. Screaming, terrified. No one else would have stuck around to see if he'd break loose. They'd just assume he would and run.

Bruce just assumed Tony would run for it.

"Leave me alone," the creature growled low, however empty the warning was by that point. It almost sounded like Bruce, and that put Stark off. "Go away."

His first attempt to reply failed. He was out of smart things to say.

Tony's chest began to hurt again.


	10. What a Friend Is

A/N: Thanks you guys, SO MUCH for your continued reviews and favoritings and stuff. You really keep me going. 3

* * *

When Howard sent him away to boarding school, he had lived for his first year in a room with a boy whose name he didn't remember, but the kid had acute asthma. It would act up at the worst times, and it was always quick to the onset, violently quick-but so slow to recede. Tony remembered lying in his bed and listening to the ragged sounds of his room mate fighting to breathe.

There was nothing to do about it. He'd suck down air from a white tube that smelled like hospital's essence-just half a gasp's worth, it never seemed enough-and then wait for the medicine to take effect. He wasn't dying, but he wasn't okay either, and none of Tony's prodigal knowledge could help it or make the shuddering noises from the boy's broken lungs stop. He couldn't even comfort him emotionally because he'd never been taught to do that. He still didn't really know how.

That uncomfortable feeling was back, sitting in the old, musty dark of this place, waiting out Bruce's return-something that, like his room mate's asthma, was something that had to come about upon both physical and mental consent.

"Go away," they both warned sullenly.

"Nothing doing," Iron Man replied simply.

And so they waited.

He hadn't been around when Hulk had changed back after the battle with the Chitauri. He was too busy getting cut out of his suit. But now, he imagined the man probably preferred when he lost control, went out of his mind and turned green against his will, because then the bigger guy just kept going until he passed out or got knocked out. Then he was just unconscious for this part.

At first the Hulk simply remained within the alcove, ignoring Tony's further attempts to talk to him or responding with nothing more than a snarl. It almost seemed like he wanted to engage with the Iron Man, threaten, come to blows, but he kept strangely still in the dark, around the corner where he couldn't be seen. All he could hear was Hulk breathing, a perpetual grumble, echoing like a lion's. Sometimes he made noises that sounded like words, but they weren't being directed at Tony. Actually, he wasn't sure who they were being directed at. Or from.

And just as he'd had enough time to feel uncomfortable about that thought, about the notion that maybe he had no idea who Bruce was when he was Hulk, he heard the first of his bones begin to pop.

He stayed out in the dark. He didn't try to watch, though the scientist in him was dying to see everything. It sounded like bones breaking in slow motion, like flesh being crushed but not splitting, in reverse. It wasn't so bad until he began to hear more of Bruce than Hulk, and actually heard him-noises wrenched from his throat when they had no where else in his body to go. Wordless, painful grunts and uneven gasps that didn't seem sufficient to giving a person actual air. Just like back then; he wasn't dying, but it wasn't okay, and either way Stark was powerless.

_I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare_.

It struck the metal man oddly silent.

Soon, though not nearly soon enough, the breathing became easier, if fatigued. At one point, it seemed to stop altogether as though the other man had just given in to strain, but as soon as Tony became nervous enough to speak, he didn't have to because Bruce was.

"You're really just going to keep standing out there, aren't you?" His voice was raw. But it was Bruce.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed, sounding a lot more sure than he felt.

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you, Bruce."

"You want an apology?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm not sorry."

He didn't know how to respond to that right away. He had to swallow down the lump in his throat first.

"I just wanted to talk."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you."

"Yeah, well," Tony engaged the air lock on his visor and his helmet came open. His first breath of the stale cool air made him choke a little. "You're stuck in a crypt with hardly any clothes on and I'm in a full suit of armor. I'd be lying if I said the playing field isn't a little tilted against you right now and I'm sorta okay with that."

An edge of impatience crept to his voice, but it was only because he wasn't used to being outright rejected, and he'd waited so long. "Bruce, just hear me out."

"You've made it apparent I don't have a choice. Have at it."

The doctor sounded like he'd give anything just to be able to sleep right now. Tony's mouth went slack.

"Alright." What could he say? "I was actually sort of serious when I asked you to come back to the Tower, you know. Did that not come off clear? Because Pep tells me that sometimes I skirt the issue. Did I come across too vague for you?"

"Tony-"

"Or do you just not care about what you do to people?"

There was a tired pause. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"I can't believe I have to explain to you what a friend is."

"Is that what you are?" He huffed. "Nice. That's nice. I love having friends who chase me down so they can shoot at me."

"I wasn't shooting at you. I did not once shoot at you."

"You aimed."

"I wouldn't fire!"

"I wish you-"

He didn't finish, but the damage had already been done, the bickering stopped. Tony blinked hard. The air was so stale down here, so dry. It made his eyes ache and his lungs burn.

It made him feel empty, it made him angry. Ever since the man had confessed to trying to take his life, he'd been changed from the inside, hell bent to make sure that didn't happen again. Because if he admitted about one incident, who was to say there hadn't been other attempts? Tony knew exactly what it was like to feel so low, so much hate for the very skin you crawled in that you had no regard for your breath.

He still did. But it was different now.

It was all different.

"What did you come here for?" he asked, his voice almost lost in the empty space he'd trapped himself in.

Tony didn't answer right away, his mind still reeling. Then he rose up off the floor where he'd been sitting, waiting through the trip back to Bruce, and knelt near the small crevasse, peering in as best he could. His HUD lights splashed onto bare feet with bony knuckles, frayed, torn jeans.

"I came for you."

Bruce's legs tucked in, away from the light. Tony's teeth grit together, but he kept his voice level.

"I've been coming for you all this time. You don't have to do this. You can't. Do this. Live like this, I mean. Please take it from me. You..." he paused. Talking. Talking was hard. "When I saw things...weren't working out the way I wanted them to, I found another way. I found a way to live, because I should have been dead. You too. But we're here, and...this place is really depressing."

Bruce exhaled strangely. It might have been a laugh. (God, Tony wanted him to just laugh.)

"Yeah. It's full of people who're actually dead."

"Figures." Tony let out a shaky breath. "Point is...you snatched me out of the sky, Big Guy, and I never got to return the favor. I hate owing people."

He could almost see Bruce rolling his dark eyes, shaking his head, mentally pointing out Tony's flaws. He didn't care.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

Tony looked down, as though he were being stared at. Maybe he was. Maybe those dark-light eyes were on him right now, watching, gauging.

"Just stop running. Let me catch you."

_Please._

The darkness shifted, and bare skin scraped against stone. He could hear cloth then, the shadows of limbs trying to pull together the remants of the denim jeans he'd been wearing. Tony peered in hopefully. His light sprayed a thin, dirty hand that waved him back.

Brown eyes squinted, tired. Really tired.

"That...that light is really bright. Just..?"

Tony didn't need to be told twice. He stood up, got back, dimmed the visor lights as Bruce crawled to his feet and became visible, attempting to squeeze his body back through the archway. It was a little easier now, because he was wearing a lot less clothing, but also a little hard because he was trying to move and hold his pants together at the same time.

God, he was just skin and bones benath those clothes. How did he have the energy to run so fast living off of that? Bruce squinted in the light of the arc reactor embedded in the heart of the suit. Tony gave a cocky, but supportive smile, lending out an alloy hand.

Bruce gathered the waist of his pants in one fist, one leg out, half of him still in. He reached out to grab the metal forearm so he could pull himself out.

So while Tony hardly heard the silenced firearm go off, he felt the force of its impact shudder from Bruce into him.


	11. Let Down, Time after Time

The hand on his arm gripped, and then yanked down, but it was only because he was trying not to fall.

At first Bruce seemed confused by the noise, but then the feeling registered, and by then it was already too late. His eyes widened slowly, but the color of his eyes (shards of light from the arc reactor clung to the moistness of his irises for just those few moments) were chased out as his pupils were blown open, wide and empty, no light at all.

"Y..."

Bruce's hands dumbly rose up to grab onto him as he thumped into Tony's chest, as though bumped by some clumsy passerby. Tony caught him, and he felt Bruce's full weight sink against the cradle of his arm. Even without the added strength of the suit, holding him up would have been effortless. Tony's breath caught in his chest-those fleeting moments as he curled the man in his right arm, anchored him close, spun around and bared the left repulsor without a single thought behind him, firing without thought as his visor clamped shut and his eye slits flashed.

"Freeze, United States Arm-"

The darkness flared up into madness and suddenly they were surrounded by figures in dark scrambled to avoid the blast. It was only by the time his second attack had announced its coming with its slow upward whine that his brain ordered him to stop before he did something he wouldn't regret, but would wish he did.

"Stand down,_ Iron Man_!" An older man's voice shouted. "You already have the thanks of your government for helping bring him in. Don't get trigger happy on your own countrymen, now."

_Ross. _Tony spun around, his back to them as he frantically scanned Bruce for wounds. The HUD display could barely keep up with where his eyes traveled. He quickly zeroed in on it-a thick tranquilizer dart, lodged in the side of his torso, vial pumped empty into the man's frail body. Growling, he ripped it out and tossed it to the ground. A clumsy shot. It was bleeding, welting.

He met Bruce's eyes, and saw the deepest sense of betrayal in his fading gaze. Pain. Tears streamed quietly down his dirty face, heavy and glistening, but drool was also escaping from the corner of his mouth as he tried to speak through numb lips.

"Y...ou're...aliar," he sighed, bathed in the light of Tony's chest. "Tony...?"

_Oh god no. Ohgodno._

Panic shot through him.

"Bruce." Desperation flooded the voice feed, warped the sound. But he was calm. He was always calm, cool. Tony Stark didn't lose his cool. "Bruce, this wasn't me. I didn't do this. I wouldn't do this to y-Bruce. Listen to me-"

"Shhvetter. Thisibetter." Bruce was too far gone to hear him. He was dead weight against him, his words barely words, just strings of barely audible noises.

The man's hand pressed, dragged over the starlit core at the center of Tony's chest, that stoic protector of his heart, then slipped limp to his side.

"Sokay. Run, Betty."

And then he was gone, drool-slick cheek slumped against the cool metal breastplate, eyes half open.

Iron Man turned on them all. He heard magazines cocking in near unison.

"Relax, Stark. Just recalling government property." Floodlights suddenly came on, making Tony glad he'd shut off the nightvision spectrum ages ago, though he wished he'd had it on when it counted. Ross had an entire stealth unit positioned in the narrow corridors and walkways, and now every gun they had was trained on him. He lowered his own, and damn if he wasn't the one who'd fired. "We just gave him something to make sure he'll be compliant for the plane ride back over to the States, or at the very least international waters. You understand."

"Not really. There's a lot of things about what you're saying that don't make any sense to me. Like the crazy assumption that I'm just going to hand him over to you. You realize he is a hero, right? He's a fucking _hero_. He saved all of your _lives_."

"He's also a fugitive of the U.S. government and responsible for the deaths of innocent people, and that unfortunately hasn't changed. Now, I don't think you really need anymore bad press at this point. Which you'll definitely get, at the very _least_, if you decide there's any way out of this but handing him over and receiving honors for a job well done." Ross strode forward, his eyes on Banner before staring directly into the eye slits of the Iron Man helmet. The corner of his lips twitched.

"Come on now, Tony. That pretty young thing of yours isn't here to do this for you. Do the right thing."

It all clicked, suddenly, horribly.

"You son of a bitch."

The general mildly laughed.

"Sticks and stones. You're just sore because I got one up on you. For once. I'm not bad for my age, now am I?" He nodded at the motionless Banner. "So what were you after him for? We've been tracking you for months and that's the one thing I haven't quite figured out. You deal in machines and tech, not super soldiers." He appraised the suit with an up and down glance. "Of this sort, anyway."

Tony didn't answer. It was everything he could do to not end the man where he stood.

He was so glad his visor was down.

Ross accepted his silence.

"Go on and set him down, Stark. We'll take it from here."

* * *

A/N: Does Iron Man relinquish Banner to General Ross? Or does he damn it all and 'cut the wire'?

I can't seem to decide. It won't change what will happen, but it will just change HOW it happens. So I need your help, my readers! Please R/R or PM with your opinions!


	12. I'd Just Cut the Wire

A/N: Thank you all SO much for your terrific feedback for the last eleven chapters. I'm so sorry I didn't get to update sooner (because I so wanted to!) but I had a crazy busy weekend. Seriously, I have the best readers ever. Keep R/Ring and I hope I continue to entertain. 3

* * *

This was the perfect plan. Ross had known Bruce's whereabouts for months. But he waited, because with time and trial came wisdom, and with wisdom patience; he knew that pulling out all the guns would not work for a capture. They wouldn't work on Banner at all.

When he realized Tony was doing the exact same thing (that had been the hardest part, tracking his moves, finding out they were after the same beast) it became all the easier. He planted the seed of doubt in his lovely assistant. Then it was just a matter of following the bread crumbs.

It was perfect. Stark would ruin himself overnight if he used his peacekeeping weapon against his own countrymen. And if there was anything he loved more it was looking like a damn hero. So no matter how much he wanted to keep the Hulk technology for himself-and for whatever reason-he would set him down. Ross promised himself mentally he wouldn't smear it in Tony's face later. Not publically, anyway. He was still a gentleman.

It was the perfect plan.

Only the man of iron was just standing there, still as stone; and he couldn't tell what he was looking at or who with that mask on.

The satisfied smile slowly drained from beneath his mustache when Stark shifted his hands; with a soft whir of gears he tried to shift the nearly naked man's dead weight so he was properly holding him, not just letting him sag against the suit.

"Right, well." Stark's voice protruded, grained from the feed. "That's not going to work for me. So, general. If you'll excuse me; oh, and _go fuck yourself_. Thanks."

And damn if Ross had no clue how to respond to that. He blinked. Iron Man eased past him, each footstep clunking in the puzzled silence. He spun to watch him.

"You think I'm just going to let you walk out of here with him, Stark?"

"Yup."

"You're out of your damn mind." Ross paced after him, drawing his pistol from the holster at his side. He aimed for the matted mop of hair resting on Stark's shoulder, and fired. His gun didn't have a silencer. The shot rang out, loud and clear. He missed. It ricocheted off Tony and into a wall somewhere. The force hardly made the suited man flinch.

Stark's reaction-swinging back around and thrusting his heavy metal arm into the general's abdomen -made Ross flinch a lot. A whole lot.

Right into a wall, in fact.

"General!" Most of his team rushed to his aid, and some were brave enough to fire shots at Iron Man, but most only watched as he curled just long enough around the bare, unconscious Banner to guard him from the gunfire before taking off down one of the maze-like tunnels.

His captain was one of those men, but seeing it was no use, he hurried to the general, helping the others lift him up from the rubble that had fallen in about him in the force of his impact. "Sir! What are your orders? Our street squad is ready to intercept."

"Leave him," Ross choked, coughing short, soft gasps, fighting the pain and forcing it to the back of his mind. "Let him go."

"But sir-!"

"I said let him go. Let him have Banner," he breathed sharply, feeling blood run down his brow. He touched it with his fingers (from the arm he could still move); it looked purplish on the tips in this light. He smiled despite himself. "At ease, son. This isn't my first rodeo, and we haven't lost yet."

* * *

Pepper returned to the hotel room as soon as she saw people were starting to talk about a disturbance over across town. It was described as a UFO by some and a rogue robot by others, though soon everyone knew that Iron Man had been seen in Paris, and therefore knew why Tony Stark hadn't been at the conference.

She slid her copy of his key card into the door and pushed in, but found the room dark and well preened from room service coming in and Tony not having come back.

"Well that's just great," she breathed, walking across the fine carpet and looking out the window. Something caught her notice, though, from the left. She pushed it open and stuck her head out. Fine beige silk curtains had spilled out of the next door room's window, fluttering upon the balcony. The balcony.

Her balcony.

_Her room_.

Shutting the window, she ran back to the door and hurried down the hall to her room, swiped the card in her hand; but it was his, so she had to go through her purse for hers, fumbling bout until she found it and pushed the door in.

Everything seemed alright until she walked into the bedroom. She'd picked the room because of the balcony, the extra soft queen mattress, and asked for extra pillows.

Now her balcony doors were broken open; they looked split open as though someone had come crashing in. There was glass all over the floor, and the Iron Man mask was tossed to the side haphazardly, and something that looked like shredded denim also laid on the floor. The bed was rocked back a few feet from where it had been originally, and the pillows were askew.

And there Tony was, in full suit sans helmet and his gauntlets equipped, on her extra soft queen bed, kneeling over an unconscious, naked, grizzle-haired man sprawled out beneath him in a heap as he tried to take his pulse.

She yelped in surprise, clapped a hand to her mouth. He looked up. Tony's lips parted, about to say something urgent, but the panic and dumbfounded look on her features made him sigh and roll his head as much as the suit would allow.

"Pepper, let's face it; this is _still _not the worst thing you've ever caught me doing."


	13. Tech P0rn

A/N: The following dose of MFing tech porn is devoted to Kysis. 3

* * *

It took two minutes for Tony to actually find his pulse; then he wasn't sure so Pepper took over since she wasn't so physically distraught-she wasn't hearing her heart in her throat, anyway. Bruce's lifebeat was weak but still going steadily along.

It took only a minute after that for Pepper to go hysterical about the naked, slightly cut up man in her room sprawled out on her bed, and five minutes for Tony to calm her down-which he wasn't very good at. So really it was just five minutes of him yelling 'calm down!' and Pepper babbling off to him and herself until she calmed herself and went very quiet.

And now she was still quiet, standing next to Tony with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at Dr. Banner's nearly lifeless form in a solemnly accepting way. Tony looked with her, standing the same way, also looking a little uncertain about what to do at this point. He clearly hadn't thought this through. But he didn't say anything yet, waiting for Pep to come back for her senses. There wasn't much else he knew how to do.

"He looks...are you sure he's not going to...?"

"Ross shot a tranquilizer into him. Probably enough to kill a bull elephant, but he can take it. Maybe. I need to run some tests."

They both spoke as though they feared waking up the naked man, even though there was no danger of it at all. He barely seemed to be breathing.

"Why is he...naked?" She murmured the last word thoughtfully.

Tony's head turned ninety degrees and said obviously, "Clothes don't stretch."

"Right." She blinked. By the third time she'd blinked again, Tony felt she'd come back enough to deal with this and turned to her.

"Alright, I need to unsuit. Here's what I need you to for me."

She didn't look at him. "Uhuh."

"I need you to go to my room. I need my blood toxicity reader and the JJ unit; they're both in the solid state suitcase under the bed, passcode 'strawberry'. Towels. A pair of my pajamas-not my black ones, very important. I need those. And a set of clothes, too. Two. Sets of clothes, I mean. Don't forget socks."

"Yeah."

"And I want you to be discreet, and fast, because there may or may not be people coming after us. Which reminds me, make a call to get the plane ready. We're leaving as soon as I know he's safe to move."

"Coming for you, got it." she said faintly. She didn't move.

Tony paused. "And I'm really um, I'm sorry about the room. I'll make it up to you, promise."

Then finally occurred to Tony that Pepper wasn't fully paying attention, and her gaze upon Bruce wasn't altogether strictly medically concerned. And to be fair, Tony hadn't put the man down very gracefully and had foregone such things as modesty. Which hadn't seemed like a huge deal at the time, but now made his blood pressure rocket.

He stared at the ginger directly bit out incredulously, "_Pepper."_

She jumped. "Right, going. Going." She fastened her hands together and startled into motion, rushing out to get whatever it was he'd said.

It would come to her eventually.

* * *

Not long later, he stood there in a wrinkled suit that was a little torn up, fiddling with what looked like an iPod dock. Pepper was in the foyer of the large suite, on the phone with whom he assumed was their pilot, and Bruce was hastily clothed in a pair of Tony's pajama pants and a T-shirt.

He searched his suit for his cell phone and punched in a few things before placing it in the dock. There was a whir and suddenly a light blue projection enveloped and surrounded them, flooding to the ceiling and the walls

"Hey, Jarvis Jr."

_'I truly wish you would not mute me when I am trying to tell you something of that level of importance, sir. I could have told you that you were completely surrounded.'_ Jarvis' calm, informed tone echoed from the speaker of the dock._ 'Nor that you would call me Jr. It suggests I'm some sort of procreation of myself, which would be entirely impossible and ethically questionable. I'm simply a mobile extension of myself.'_

"Are you really going to get upset over a nickname?"

_'It's not in my accumulative-learning functionality to become upset, sir.'_ There was a suffering pause._ 'Not yet, at the very least.'_

"Great." The billionaire sat on the foot of the bed and pulled a projection out of the screen to expand it to larger view, flicking at the air to access one of his medical scan databases remotely. The image flickered a little, but appeared. "I want you to run a scan on Dr. Banner. The mobile unit's not really meant for this, but I think you can handle it. Tell me exactly what's swimming in him right now. I want a detailed tox screen." He pulled a plastic glove from the small first aid kit Pepper had found in the bathroom, tugged it onto his hand, and readied his blood toxicity reader with a fresh sticker.

_'Sir, I advise the strictest of caution. According to the SHIELD file you forwarded into my database approximately eleven months ago, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner's blood is highly irradiated with gamma exposure and tactically poisonous.'_

"I'm a step ahead of you, Jarv. Relax." He stuck Banner's pale, thin arm with the reader. It beeped, and read_ toxicity level: 101.5%. _

"Christ." Tony swallowed. He wasn't even sure what that meant. It could be anything. The gamma exposure, the tranquilizer, some poison. Who knew? He stuck the other end into his phone, clicking it fast and holding a gauze to the hardly bleeding puncture. Bruce didn't even stir.

_'Sample reading acc-epted. Proc-cess-essing analys...iiss.'_ Jarvis' voice glitched, slowed down, sped up, then stuttered. But a window appeared showing the progress of the analysis, ticking away steadily.

"Estimated time?" Tony nearly murmured it, scrunching his brow. He almost didn't want to interrupt at all; the mobile unit was probably burning up a lot of energy just reading the sample. This was a job that a two million dollar scanner he'd put together in his med lab was designed to do, and he was attempting it from his cell phone.

_'Estimated analy-sssis completion; o-on-one hour and fifffffff-tty minutes minutes minutes,'_ Jarvis' voice stammered calmly. The progress bar ticked along smoothly.

"Tony," Pepper said, coming in for just a moment. "He said we can be authorized to lift off in two hours at the soonest." She ducked out again before he could answer.

"Two hours." He muttered to himself, nodded, and looked at Bruce with a scrunched brow. "Jarvis. Disregard vocal command input until the scan's done. Turn off everything that isn't necessary until then, too." The projection dimmed, and Jarvis didn't respond. The man was so quiet, so still, and with the way he looked it just made him seem dead already.

Dark eyes trailed over the tired face. After a few long moments, he reached out for the other's hand, squeezing the dirty palm tightly. His chest tightened and all sorts of difficult feelings rose up to fester. There was no response at all from Bruce. Tony swallowed.

_Hang in there, Big Guy. I've got you._


	14. Just Yes or No

A/N: Gah! So sorry for the delay. This past week has just been so crazy in adjusting to a new schedule. Thanks as always to all my wonderful readers. You guys really keep me going. 3

* * *

She'd been sitting out in the living space area of the hotel room, watching the television and scanning the new for the consequences of all of this. Strangely, aside from a story on how Iron Man had been seen roaming around Paris and a slight jab at the real reason why the famous Tony Stark hadn't been at the Klepher conference earlier that noon, there wasn't anything else to speak of. Which, if anything, made her a little more nervous. It meant the fact that the U.S. Army had been present and in pursuit of Bruce Banner was being kept under wraps. But why?

Tony had showed her the files from news stories, the incident on the lawn of Culver University. If they started a manhunt for Banner here, now, with the blessing of French authorities, they'd find him in a matter of moments. _ Why didn't they?_

It took longer than she thought it would for him to come out of the bedroom and talk with her, so she ended up coming in instead. It turned out he'd been doing the same thing as she was, with the television in this room. He had it on silent, though, and she couldn't help but smile at the pointlessness of that. Was he afraid of waking up the doctor?

She sat on the foot of the bed beside him, looking back for a moment. Banner looked like he was just in a peaceful sleep-it was deceiving. The hollows beneath his eyes were a little sunken in, and he looked different than the pictures she'd seen of him before. A lot more hair and a little less body.

_So you're the man he's been chasing around the world._

"He's keeping everything really quiet," Tony observed, breaking the silence.

She turned back around. "I saw."

"Doesn't matter. Probably off licking his wounds. Once we're back in New York, he won't have a leg to stand on. Not like he does now."

"Why do you say that?" Pepper said cautiously.

"What's that perfume you're wearing?" he asked suddenly. "That's gorgeous. It smells like apples."

"Tony."

"What?"

They exchanged trying glances. Her bluish eyes cringed with reluctant concern.

"I'm just...I've helped you this entire way."

Tony crossed his arms, looked ahead. But she knew he was still paying attention so she kept talking.

"And I always will. I haven't asked any questions, because there was no reason to ask questions. I just need you to tell me now if he's really worth everything you're going through." She paused and added carefully, "If he's worth everything _I'm _going through."

He looked at her abruptly, beginning, "Pep, he _caught_-"

"Just...shuh." She raised her hand, fingers out to him. Her eyes fell closed. She had that look, somewhere between a headache and a breaking heart, and it was impossible for Tony to ever tell just where she fell in those parameters. "I know. But I just want a yes or a no right now. That's all I need from you."

When she opened her eyes again, his mouth had pressed into a firm, straight line. This much, he knew he was able to understand about her-the cut-to-the-chase, business side of her that led her to flourish during her short time as CEO of the company. The part of her that was able to keep emotion only integrated in the matter and not have it be the focus-pure and blatant honesty, all the crap cut out.

It just never seemed to work when he tried to understand anything more, no matter how much he'd wanted it-and now it was the other way around.

"Yes." Tony exhaled, with the same certainty that he shoved at everything.

Pepper studied his eyes for a moment, and then nodded-it was more like bobs of her head. The slightest smile traced her lips.

"Okay." And that was the end of it. "How is he doing?"

"Not sure yet. Looks alright...we'll know in a few more minutes for sure."

"Are you going to send the results to S.H.I.E.L.D. when they're ready?"

He huffed. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"They might be able to sort him out if there's something wrong."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He stood up, pacing over to turn off the TV. "I'm already up against Ross. The longer S.H.I.E.L.D. stays out of this, the better."

She followed him, crunching her brow. And they'd been doing so well. "We're already there. Tony, at the very least, he needs a doctor. You're not a doctor."

"He is," Tony pointed out.

"He's the _patient_!"

"Then there's no better person to ask," he contested dubiously, shrugging, just being a smartass at this point.

"Yeah, it's always better to ask the patient first how he's feeling first," Bruce's groggy voice stated calmly from the bed.

"Right, it's-" Tony started, and then stopped.

The quarreling couple's necks craned to view the curly haired physicist pulling himself up onto his elbows, seeming to have a somewhat difficult time of it. His eyes were slightly unfocused-he actually didn't appear to be fully conscious. But the corner of his lips went crooked in the barest hint of his nature as he tried to gather his bearings, blinking slowly through foggy eyes and then his own fingertips as they tried to rub out the sleep that just refused to shake from him.

"Mmh. Betty?" Face scrunched with discomfort in the light of wakefulness, he called out the woman's name, his voice dry. "_Betty_." He said it louder. He hung his head between his legs and groaned; it was too heavy to hold up on his shoulders.

"Water," Tony whispered at Pepper, and then moved quickly to the bedside while she hurried to get what he'd asked for. "Hey, big guy. It's okay-it's okay." He smiled when Bruce lifted his face towards him sluggishly. "Yeah, haha, hey. Welcome back to the land of the living. How ya feel?" He sat down beside Bruce, reaching out to clasp onto his shoulder.

He wasn't ready for Bruce's fist colliding with astounding force into the side of his face. But as Tony sprawled on the floor and the ragged man fell from the bed and closed his hands around his neck, it occurred to him he probably should have been.


	15. Tell Me to Calm Down

This was that moment in films where the score rang loud and dramatically to accompany the sudden flourish of violence in the calm eye of the storm. There was a struggle and there was screaming and a kicking of legs-vehement promises of death and dismemberment and desperate pleading with the attacker.

But for what it was worth, there really wasn't any noise in the room except for the pounding of blood in Tony's ears, and he couldn't scream because he would have to be able to speak first. And as he fought for breath, he couldn't think to plead with his eyes because he was too busy pleading with his hands-his hands gripped the thin, deceptively strong wrists where the tendons bulged out with Bruce's efforts to squeeze the life out of him. His fingernails gripped to puncture, but the haggard looking scientist didn't even flinch.

And all he could think of when he looked up into that face of cold rage was _God, you're so much stronger than you __**look.**_

He squirmed beneath him. It only gave Bruce better leverage on top of him.

"Bruhce," he choked out. He could feel his lips turning blue. "Sth..." Ink black eyes met cold, furious doe brown ones. Suddenly they were all too focused, and Tony's were rolling back in his skull.

_God, you really want to kill me, don't you?_

The sound of Tony's voice made Bruce growl and he raised one of his fists to punch him again. Tony took the blow with a strangled grunt, but also took advantage of it, grabbing him by the wrist and trying to throw off his balance. It worked. Tony pushed forward and clocked him in the jaw. Bruce crumpled to the floor. Tony pinned him down, fighting through the urge to pass out as breath returned to him all too quickly. Bruce's skin was hot and cold all at once, like a live wire. They began to thrash. Bruce let out an incoherent curse.

Somewhere in the room, a glass shattered. Pepper let out a scream.

"Oh my _fucking_ god. Tony!"

"Don't worry, Pep, I've got it THANKS." Tony snapped out, struggling to bear his weight down upon the thrashing man beneath him. Bruce was strong, so strong-his body felt like one lean muscle-but the initial rush of his adrenaline was beginning to wear off. But this wasn't Hulk. Those wide eyes were staying brown. He probably didn't even have it in him to change again. This was pure Banner, a cornered, half-aware Banner who thought Tony Stark had stabbed him in the back. "Bruce. Bruce, you gotta listen. Just-"

"Don't you fucking dare tell me to calm down!" Bruce shouted in his face, a small spritz of saliva flecking Tony's brow. And that seemed to be all he could take. His whole body gave at once beneath Stark, and shook from the exertion he'd put himself through, but those words were enough to give Tony pause for a moment. "Don't you _ever_ fucking dare tell me calm down!"

"Tony, stop it! What the hell are you doing. You're going to kill him! Get off!" Pepper yelled.

"Leave me alone!" Bruce growled, tossing his head so hard Tony heard it thump against the carpet.

"You're late to this party Pep, as usual," he tossed back at her, "Just can it a second."

"Oh that's great, just shove the blame on-"

"Let. Me. GO!" The last word tore from him like a roar of pain. As though holding him down were actually killing him.

"Pep!" Tony stared at Bruce helplessly, swallowing hard to remoisten his throat. He'd likely have bruises later on his neck. _Fucking damn. You fucking hate me. All I see is hate in you, _was all he could think as he tried to lock onto them, but they kept squeezing shut as Bruce continued to struggle in vain."Listen. I know how this must seem to you, but I'm on your side. Thunderdolt isn't here. Kay? It's just you and me."

"And me," Pepper attempted.

"And Pepper. Kay? C'mon, big g-Bruce. We're on your side. Ross is long gone. No one's coming after you. Not while I'm around. Just-just trust me. Please." He swallowed again, panting out, "And preferably, stop trying to strangle me. I'll be honest with you; I'd really like that too. But-but if it's a tossup between trusting me and strangling me, definitely the trusting first. I feel like that'll lead to better things. I really do."

Bruce's flushed face was screwed up in anger, but Tony could tell he was fully awake and fully aware now-inhaling deeply in through his nose. His eyes shut. He was trying to calm himself. "Get off, of me," he hissed quietly. Dangerously. "_Now_."

Tony paused only a moment more, and then rolled off him without a word. Bruce rolled over and got to his knees with the reflexes of an animal, then propped his forehead to the carpet trying to regroup. His hands crossed over his torso, gauging the way his own stomach caved and expanded to regulate his own breathing. Stark leaned up against the bedskirts, rubbing his own neck, also recovering. Just staring at him, dark eyes wide.

They stayed like that for a minute or two until the fight left both of them. Even Pepper didn't move.

"Where are we?" Bruce finally said after a while.

"One of the finest hotels in Paris. Naturally."

"How long was I out?"

"Couple hours."

"Where were you planning on taking me?" The question was a weak growl. A pant.

Tony stared at him, his hand still rubbing his neck gingerly. "Home."

He saw Bruce's eyes scrunch shut, jaw clench. He drew in a painful breath before he propped his palms on the fine carpet and pushed himself up. It seemed to take so much effort, but god help him, Tony couldn't find the will to move and help him just now.

"Where's the bathroom? I-I really need to use the bathroom."

Tony pointed silently in the direction of it. Bruce shakily scrambled to his feet and paced that way, his eccentric footfalls noiseless. But the slam of the elegant door sent a shiver through the floor the billionaire sit sat on, staring dumbly at the man's absence.

"Jesus _Christ_, Tony, are you okay? Let me see." Pepper rushed forward, kneeling down and looking at him, checking his pupils, then grabbing his chin in her hand and lifting his jaw slightly to look at the marks already printing the skin of his neck. "Is he always like that? Is that-you know, like a thing? Is that going to be a thing?"

He shook his head absently, eyes moist, though he'd blame it on the strangulation.

His chest felt so heavy. The arc reactor felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

He blinked slowly, not really even acknowledging Pepper fussing over him after a while as he heard the faint noises of Banner retching in the toilet out of pure anxiety.

And then Jarvis' cool voice flooded his ears, crisp and neat. The progress meter reappeared at 100%.

'Sample analysis complete. Sir, I've taken the liberty of uploading the results to my home system as well. You may want to have a look at this.'


	16. Betty, For Now

The results of the sample analysis had marked in scientific detail what could otherwise be described as 'this dose of shit can really fuck a person up'. It was already bad enough that capture tranquilizers were never used on humans because of the possibility for it to either take no effect or overdose and kill a target, but Ross was finally pushing the envelope. Because really, why not? Worst case scenario, it didn't work-best case, it killed Banner.

Tony had at best a working knowledge in chemistry as far as actual poisons (to his own standards; in others' standards he was beyond some experts, and he was more familiar with incapacitating agents), but he knew enough to tell that this particular dose had just meant to keep Bruce down and make him stay down, but alive. A heavy dose of M-99 to take him down-a lick of it was enough to kill a normal person-a major barbituate cocktail to keep him out, and a gradual release adrenaline concentrate designed to trigger and drag him back to life if his body decided to give out.

Last but not least, just enough dimethylheptylpyran to make it so if he did wake up, he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere anytime soon or turning into anything green. Tony couldn't help but smirk despite himself-DMHP was partially derivative of cannabis, thinking of a joke he'd made once upon a time. _ So Ross used a really, really big bag of weed to keep a lid on Hulk. Clever._

Jarvis then explained that his own analysis predicted that it had only been mere hours since the distribution of the tranquilizer and Banner's bloodstream would remain saturated for at least a 24 hour period at the safest guess, and there were bound to be residual effects of both physiological and mental nature.

That's when Tony and Pepper both realized he'd been in the bathroom for a while.

"Do you think he's alright?" Pepper spoke, worry creeping into her voice as she glanced at the shut door.

Tony shot her a sullen look and gestured dubiously at the screen. "Does that look _alright_ to you?" He'd pulled himself up onto the bed since Jarvis had begun reading through the analysis, and he hadn't moved such since; his elbows propped on his knees as he scrolled back and forth through the seemingly endless stream of data that seemed to collapse in on itself as it kept wanted to refer to Banner as a deceased object-because anything else would be dead.

Pepper rolled her eyes. Tony was shutting down. "If we're going to get him on the plane, he needs to be awake. Or you'll have to carry him."

Her cold logical face didn't work. She was met with silence. "Tony-"

"Pep, I just need a second. Okay?" His fingers brushed along the darkening prints on his neck for the hundredth time. "Just need a second. One second."

And she gave him exactly that. One second. "I was just curious who Betty was."

Tony blinked, looking at her. "You know who she is. I showed you the file."

"Well yeah, but that doesn't tell me anything."

"She's-the girl. You know, Ross' daughter. Estranged daughter. I think she's dating a shrink." He tossed his hand at an invisible shrink in the corner of his eye. "I dunno. Tallish. Brunette, nice mouth."

"Who is she to _Bruce_?" she tried patiently.

"I don't know, they were colleagues on the gamma project. They might have dated?" Tony shrugged, his face blank and blue tinged by the projected screen he kept flipping through, but wasn't.

"They _might _have dated?" Pepper echoed, nearly losing her patience. "Tony, that's-" she scoffed in frustration. "A man you've been chasing all over the world wakes up in a stupor, calls a woman's name and you have no idea what she means to him or how to calm him down. He didn't even know you! Well, that's just perfect. _Great_ job."

Normally he would battle her sarcasm with his sharp wit, but there was nothing. He dipped his head and scratched the back of it nonchalantly.

"You're not upset because he's not who you thought he was," Pepper accused. "You're sulking because you just realized you had _no_ idea who he was in the first place. You never even asked, did you? You just read a file and assumed you held all the cards. Again. Just like you do to everyone. Just like you did to me. You can't_ treat _people like we come with manuals!"

He didn't fight back. His shoulders even sank. But that only made her angrier. She floated over and grabbed the clothes she'd brought over for Bruce off the chair, with the towel beneath it, bunched it in her arms.

"Pack up your toys, call Happy, tell him we need him here in half an hour and the pilot needs to be ready in forty five," she muttered at him, pausing at the threshold of the bathroom door. She took in a deep breath, unclenched her jaw, and brushed a long lock of ginger hair back over her shoulder.

Then she knocked sweetly, and gently called against the ornate wood. "Bruce? It's me. I'm coming in, okay?"

* * *

He was slumped up against the wall opposite the toilet, sleeping like a child. He hadn't done a great job of being sick all in one place, but there wasn't much of it. It was mostly bile; she figured he hadn't had nearly enough to eat in such a long time.

She set down his clothes and wiped up just enough so it wouldn't make more mess, then knelt down and took a warm rag to his face. His eyes sluggishly tugged open, head jerking minimally as though it were being pulled with a string.

"Hey," she said, voice low. "Hey. It's okay."

His pupils were different sizes, and he squinted tiredly through what must have been a haze to see her.

"Betty." He sounded like his mouth was full of marbles.

She smiled, and pressed the moist heat against his scraggled chin, wiping his face and mouth clean. Tony had been in worse messes, but she'd been paid well to deal with his antics.

"I could be Betty, for now. If you want."

He seemed to recognize for a moment that she wasn't, before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The rest was awash in a blur of barbituate and steam. He was slumped against that park bench where he'd seen that couple becoming a couple, and then tiles ran wet with sleek hot rain, a summer shower. Dark brunette hair ran ginger and flashed back again, like the scales of a fish caught in the reflection of the sunlight over the water, and skin stayed pale, less covered. She sat down with him at the bench, across from him, and ginger ran darker. She smelled very strongly of soap. He did too, come to think of it. He couldn't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. She didn't seem to mind.

"So you're the guy he's been chasing everywhere," she finally said aloud.

"And you're Miss Potts."

"Pepper's fine."

Her voice shimmered in his head and made him a little dizzy. Her hands sculpted seafoam in his hair, though, so he didn't fall off the bench. Everything kept drifting from normal pace to extra slowed down, but never too fast. "You're so normal looking."

That little girl from the bus stop grinned.

"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes closed.

"No. It's actually...I meant it as a good thing. I think that's a good thing." She chuckled. "You're like...a shaggy dog. When's the last time you bathed?"

He wasn't sure if that last sentence was real or not, but the first one was. His lips twitched.

"How about the last time you ate?" she asked instead.

He slipped back under, but her hands remained fastened to his hair and his face, glued by foam.

When he came back to-at least, he thought he'd been out, perhaps he'd been carrying on a conversation this entire time-she was talking, mostly to herself. The rain had stopped. She was running a toothed comb gently through his hair. Water ran down his neck and the plastic teeth felt good on his scalp.

"-about you like you're Captain America. I mean, he doesn't_ like _Captain America. I mean, like the _idea_ of him. He talks like you're a superhero. Well. You really sort of...are, aren't you, all of you? So I've just been sort of curious about you."

She was talking softly enough to keep herself company, and not wake him up. He shivered, even though he was uncomfortably warm. She murmured under her breath something about him burning up.

"You can ask," Bruce said.

"Okay." There was a long pause. At least he thought it was long. "Who's Betty?"

Dark hair touched his face. A panic surged through him. The smallest movement revealed he was resting with his back to her chest now. A lapse of lucid sight showed that the woman he'd been peering at was just the reflection from the shower door.

"What, what is it Bruce? Are you gonna be sick again?"

He shook his head. He couldn't grasp the words.

_Bruce. It's okay. It's just thunder._

"Did-did I hurt him?"

"Who, Tony?"

"I didn't-I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't want-"

_It's just the rain. Shh._

A chuckle. "Only his pride. It needed some notching down anyway. He'll be okay. You're not feeling well-it's not your fault." A freckled hand combed instead through his hair. "He really cares about you. You know? I don't know what you did, but he..."

He blinked away the sight of green against the translucent, steam-dropped glass.

Lips touched the side of his temple, soaked in live wire heat. It wasn't intimate. It was almost maternal, actually. "You know, you don't have to stay awake on my account. I've cleaned him up so many times I can probably be asleep too, come to think of it."

Bruce reached out for a dried blueberry from Tony's packet as the man plopped down on the bench. But it had no taste when he put it in his mouth. It tasted like his own skin.

When he opened his eyes he saw the shower door again. They were sitting up against the wall on the floor, but he was dry and in comfortable clothes now. She was tying a shoe on his right foot that was just half a size too large for him.

"Tony's really lucky," he said faintly. She looked up, almost surprised. He knew then he must have slipped under for a while. "To have you. He's lucky to have you." There was something odd about the way he said it.

At first she smiled, but white teeth came over her bottom lip and pulled the expression down beneath blue eyes.

"That's how...she used to be." Bruce licked his dry lips. He closed his eyes. They were suddenly really heavy again. "Betty. She was _my_ Pepper."

Her hands went still. Or maybe he'd slipped under again. He couldn't tell.

By the bus stop, the couple got up and walked away together, leaving the empty bag of blueberries for the birds to search in vain. They sang very shrilly.

Somewhere far off, Tony yelled that it was time to go.

"That's really sweet." Her voice shimmered and followed him back into the dark. "I used to be his Betty, too."


	17. On the Outside of Your Chest

Happy had the foresight to bring a wheelchair with him when he arrived at the grand hotel, so moving Bruce from the room to the car wasn't nearly as difficult or as indiscreet as Pepper had anticipated. Of course, all who saw them looked on curiously at the mysterious extra party slumped over in the seat of it as Pepper sped him along, but there was no longer any more time to waste on worrying who saw what.

Tony and Pepper didn't speak or look at each other as she dove into the front with Happy so that Bruce could be stretched out along the back seat, head supported on Tony's lap. Then off they went. The man couldn't win a boxing match to save his life, but he could drive as recklessly and fast as anyone could do without actually being dangerous.

He was a silent ball of nerves in the backseat of the speeding vehicle. It felt like the back of the humvee in Afghanistan all over again-except instead of soldiers there were his employees and instead of a condensating scotch, it was the unconscious dead weight of his friend that he was holding.

Bruce, like that drink, threatened to roll and spill right out of his grasp with each sharp turn and sudden stop in busy Parisian evening traffic. So in the end he just refused to let him go, inky eyes constantly peering out the window to see how much longer it would take.

He found himself just really wanting to get on that plane very badly right now. Once he was in the air, he could breathe (he always could breathe up there) ; in this car though, he was vulnerable and grounded and had no idea where his contenders were hiding or what they were thinking or just what they were about to be up against because he was already half expecting the boarding process to precede some magnificent shootout between them and Interpol gunned forward by Ross.

Oh, no. Tony Stark wasn't a paranoid motherfucker at all. But then, he wasn't always responsible for someone's life other than his own.

It vaguely occurred to him that this had all been a lot easier when he'd been in the suit chasing Bruce through the underground of Paris.

_This was supposed to have been the easy part, _he thought with a frown. _The going home triumphant after landing the deal part._

Then his gaze fell to his lap at the smallest movement, and Bruce was staring right back up at him silently. He couldn't tell how long he'd been awake, but one look at him told Tony he wouldn't be for much longer. His throat clenched shut slowly, but the man didn't look away.

The billionaire offered him a faint, fleeting smile and broke the stare first, glanced out the window, pretending to be focused on something else for a moment. When he looked back down, though, it was because Bruce had begun to shudder oddly, and his eyes were rolling back in his head, cheeks puffing out. He was seizing up.

"Shit, shit, _shit_."

"What's going on?" Pepper turned her head to look back.

"I've got it." He looped his arms under him and pulled him up to sitting.

Pepper was reaching to unbelt herself. "I'm coming back there."

"I said I've got it,_ Mom_!"

But he didn't have it. Not yet. Bruce's head lolled back onto Tony's shoulder. From the noises he was making, he seemed like he was somewhere between trying to breathe and trying to be sick. He clambered to try to get him in a better position where he could hold onto him this way, because a sharp turn had them both nearly toppling over.

He planted his hand against the man's chest, through the soft fabric of his own shirt that Bruce was wearing, and pressed hard.

"Come on, buddy, get it together. We're almost there." He swallowed. Bruce's chest caved against Tony's hand. His heart was fucking pounding against the skin. Christ. Why was he so fucking warm? "I know you can hear me so cut the shit. Breathe." No, he didn't actually know that. He wanted to _think _he knew that, so badly.

He wanted to know_ something_ god damnit, he wanted to have the upper end and he didn't.

Bruce's reached up and grabbed his wrist and twisted-_hard_. But not nearly as hard as before when he'd attacked him. His other fist jutted out, white knuckled against the seat. His whole body was one solid thing, brittle and breaking.

"Round two. We'll go round two when we get home," Tony rushed in his ear. "Definitely. We'll suit up and everything. Just breathe in." He took a breath himself. Bruce didn't.

A police light flashed outside the window, glancing off the leather seats and Bruce's hair. He craned his neck instantly. But the sirens weren't for them.

He wasn't Betty, and he sure as hell wasn't Pepper. He was Tony Stark and that was beginning to mean less and less and less.

Just like back then.

He never learned _their _names. Never read _their _files.

Christ, in his own terms that made them nonexistent and they were dead now because of him.

"Look. I'm going to level with you, Banner."

He could do that. He could talk about the science. The facts.

Never about the soldier who told him to stay put before he was shot to ribbons.

"There's um...a million different chemicals running through your body right now, dominantly M-99, DMHP and a timed release adrenaline concentrate. They're playing a game of tug of war with your insides. It's actually a work of genius as far as Army tech goes, you really need to take a look at it. I'm betting you just got close to shutting down and it kicked in and triggered a respiratory failure. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago, but not you."

They jolted forward. Tony's extra hand palmed Bruce's fevered forehead to keep him put. Someone had cut them off and now Pepper was busy fighting with Happy.

"You're going to make it through this even if you have to go green to do it, but Bruce, you're scaring the shit out of me and I just need you breathe in _for fucking fuck's sake_. _Please_."

_I'm useless right now._

His voice had dropped so low he wasn't sure at first that he was still speaking aloud, until he felt the breath of his words rebounding off the physicist's clammy skin and even then he didn't believe he'd actually said anything.

Because Stark could talk about the facts, but not the marks that were left by them. Not to Pepper, not to anyone. But maybe to Bruce. He knew he could try with Bruce, and he knew, if nothing else, that Bruce would not only hear him but _listen_.

He just needed a chance.

Just one.

Then the sound of Bruce inhaling desperately wiped out every other thought and sensation.

The iron grip on his wrist broke the moment his chest heaved upward, then back down, and his hand flattened on Tony's, pinning it to his ramming heart. Stark didn't fight it, smoothing his palm rewardingly over the thrumming skin as much as he could move it.

A few more erratic breaths drew in and out of him before the man groaned weakly in relief, his whole body giving in, probably fading out of existence again.

He almost wasn't the only one. Tony looked upwards, letting out a shaky sigh of his own and let Bruce's weight bear down on him.

The car lurched to a stop and he heard the high whine of a running jet engine.


	18. Tasks and Demands

The world was moving, and he was staying still. He'd been underwater for a while, but now it felt like the rivers of the world were rushing somewhere underneath him and he was hanging in some kind of stasis where he couldn't hear anything. He could only feel everything on the outside, his insides altogether gone or numb. Not the parkbench. Smooth leather. Warmth beneath fabric.

_I used to be his Betty, too._

_...wait. What?_

But she was gone. The world opened up slightly and there _he_ was. It was dark still, but not like before. Tony's clothes, the irises of his eyes, his hair, all dropped away into the blackness and all that was left was the whiteness of his shirt, his skin, his hands. The blurred edges of marks that darkened his throat, unnatural shadows-he vaguely remembered putting those there, but that seemed like lives away. That jaw, firmly set as the world passed by only in skewed flickers of lights and shapes.

_Wow. When you think no one's looking, you...look really sad._

The very faint glow of the circle of light, tucked away behind the buttons of his white shirt.

He could only sense the hum of it against his skin; just the barest, faintest murmur, only because he was aware of its presence.

Then Tony looked down because maybe, just maybe, he knew when he was being stared at, too.

_Do you?_

The world shut closed and opened up again. Light arced off the moistness of Stark's eyes peering down at him. Bruce tried to work up the strength to move his lips, without knowing the words first. It was just as well. Nothing would give. So he just stared, his throat working uselessly. Every thought within, every movement without, began to feel heavier and heavier and take so much _effort _to perceive.

That mouth that always seemed cocksure of everything went crooked, but then he wasn't looking anymore, there was no light for Bruce to hang onto.

The world slid shut and left him in the dark with that slow upward whine of flight repulsors charging and never firing, the only sound. Over, and over. He spun into the dark, suddenly feather light, tied down, waters rising up around him.

The water rushed around his ears filled his mouth, his nostrils. Tony's fist suddenly shoved into his chest. Trying to dig its way in. It began to hurt. He fought. _No. No, stop-_

That bead of vibranium light, that little circle that kept Tony's heart from shredding to pieces, hummed through the back of Bruce's spine. Trying to dig its way out of him. His own pupils seemed to stare right back at him, burning holes in the universe.

There was nothing he was scared of more.

_Stop, stop-_

The water started broiling poison green.

He fought. Not enough. It wasn't enough.

_Stop it! You don't know what's in there!_

Through the water and the noise, he heard words.

_**-Bruce-you're scaring the shit out of me-I need you-breathe-please-**_

_Please. Stop, it hurts._

_**I just need you to breathe in.**_

A fountain of bright vibranium blue came spouting from his heart, spilling over their fingers. Not green and hot and destructive, but something cool and pure.

The sudden colors, like fireworks in the dark, made him gasp aloud. Far too bright, he closed his eyes and relented, reeling back into something warm.

And safe-for once.

* * *

The next time he opened them, it was morning.

He knew because he was promptly told as much.

_'Good morning, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner.'_

He took in a conscious breath until his lungs overfilled.

His face pressed down into soft pillow. The cotton cover touched his ears, cool from the temperature in the room and warm from the temperature of his body and it was real. Everything was real and solid and grounded.

_'It is currently 9:34am, July 14th. The forecast today is mildly sunny with a ninety percent potential for severe thunderstorms coming in from the southwest region during late afternoon. Current temperature reading 97 degrees fahrenheit, 54% humidity.'_

He rolled over to sitting up. Disgustingly soft clean sheets slid from his body, grimy and rough from a sweat that had broken out all over him and dried somewhere in the night. He was wearing a pair of grey silk pajamas that weren't his. As he moved, his hip and back popped from hours of being still. He groaned, but looked around for the informer.

There was no one there. It was just a large, empty bedroom-unused looking, but not like a hotel. A full length window showed a glimpse of a homey wildflower garden just outside, sun shining against the slightly heat-browned tips of a tea rose bush.

_Where am I?_ He couldn't remember where he'd been before this. How he'd gotten here. He raked through his brain for answers, but everything was such a fog. His head was just swimming, pounding through his ears. _This can't be good._

_'Dr. Robert Bruce Banner? I'd like to request your identification input.'_

Bruce's breath caught in his throat as he spun about on the bed and tried to find the man. Slowly he tried crawling backward off the bed, only to tangle his foot in the sheet and topple backwards onto the hardwood floor. "Ammphfuu...mm." He hissed, grabbing his back even though it was his ass that had taken the fall.

_'Mind your saline drip, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner.'_

Only then was he aware of the slight tug, now a bit uncomfortable, on his arm. He took in a shaky breath and grabbed at where the thing was imbedded in his skin to rip it out, but then thought better of it. He slowly stood up-his legs felt like rubber-and he closely studied the bag hanging from the drip post. Simple saline, as mentioned.

_'See? Nothing to worry about. Now, if I might have your identification input?'_

"My what?" Bruce exhaled, wheeling the drip with him and also using it for support as he traveled across the room, looking around. That voice was coming from everywhere. Was someone watching him through a camera? _Easy, easy, easy._ He searched the ceiling, but there was nothing apparent.

_'What may I call you?' _the voice explained with unerring patience. _'At the moment, I'm using your respected title, but it may be customized per your request. Mister Stark insisted I enter your identification as 'Master Wayne', but I hardly think it is appropriate for you to not have a say in that matter.'_

"He would," he scoffed, and then he fell silent. Slowly, and all at once it began to come back to him and the stark realization crawled up his skin and widened his brown eyes.

He limped quickly over to the full length window in the corner. The all too inviting glimpse of an outdoor wildflower garden faded at his touch and the disturbance of the panel revealed a busy Manhattan from at least eighty stories up the Stark Tower.

"Oh, man. You have to be kidding me," he uttered under his breath, in the palm of his hand-he could smell the fever sweat against it before he wiped it in his curly hair in frustration. "Ugh, _no_. You _have _to be kidding me."

_That son of a bitch, Stark. What in the hell am I doing back in New York?_

Then he let it rest on the glass, a fisted ball at first before it flattened, palm out. The warmth of the window on his fingers made him shiver and made him realize how weak he was. If it weren't for the saline drip, he'd probably have been dehydrated too.

How long had he been out? Knowing today's date meant nothing because honestly, he hadn't really been sure of the date that day at the bus stop. God, that felt like forever ago but it couldn't have been long. Sighing, he came to rest his forehead against the glass wearily, playing mental Tetris with every scrap of memory he had between then and now. There wasn't much to work with, but the tedious sorting kept him balanced. All he remembered was the catacombs and...a lot of things that didn't feel entirely real just yet. That he didn't want to feel real just yet.

After a while, he turned around and studied the room carefully. It was so quiet, but that no longer frightened him. It made perfect sense. "So...I guess you're...Jarvis, right?"

_'Affirmative.' _The AI's voice chirped._ ' It is a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Dr. Robert Bruce Banner.'_

"Uh, Dr. Banner's...fine."

_'Indentification input confirmed, Dr. Banner.' _

"Where is Tony...um, Mister Stark, now? I really need to have a word with him."

There was a pause.

_'Currently out on urgent business.'_

Bruce's jaw dropped silently for a moment. "Are-really? Are you kidding me?"

_'Not for another 7.2 years, I'm afraid.'_ Jarvis' tone sounded almost suffering.

He curled his hands tightly. He relaxed them only when he felt the needle of his drip pinch the crook of his arm, beneath the nerves of his skin.

"So-what, what exactly is this 'urgent business' that he isn't here to talk to me himself?"

_'Unfortunately, I have been explicitly instructed to withhold such information so that he may discuss such matters with you himself when he returns. In the meantime, he's left me a list of instructions for you as well, to fulfill in the event that you regained consciousness before he returned.' _

"Great." He rolled his eyes, then rubbed his hand over his brow to ease the way they ached afterward. The pressure against his face brought forth a tenderness in his sinuses-the overwhelming dryness in his mouth.

"Uh. Fine. Where's this list?" _What an asshole. The hell could he possibly want me to do?_

A glass panel on the wall lit up on the other side of the room and showed the 'Stark industries' label before booting up and accessing a data file on its own. A bullet list popped up on the screen:

Morning, Big Guy! BBS. (That's short for 'be back soon'.) Here's some stuff you can work on while I'm gone if you're up for it.

~Kitchen is down the hall, keep going. I hope you like leftover takeout. Eat something

~Shower's down the hall, second left. Should have everything you need. Bathe and stuff

~The clothes in the closet and dressers of this room are yours now. Keep in mind that clothing is **optional **herein Stark Tower. lawl. (Though seriously, you've been out of it for a couple of days. You should probably change, and see task 2. Preferably that one before this one, which is why it's task 2 and this is 3.)

~There's a yoga mat under the bed if you're bored. You like yoga, right? (Optional)

(Bruce palmed his face tiredly at this one. What an _asshole_.)

But then there was one last task:

~please don't leave

And that was it. Just 'please don't leave'. Not 'we need to talk'; not 'sorry for dragging you halfway across the world against your will'; just 'please don't leave'.

Bruce looked down at the hardwood floor at his bare feet, throat clenching when he swallowed the dryness down. First he felt like fuming, his pride making the air burn in his lungs. Then it died and left a very odd, panging emptiness, a frustration he obviously couldn't tend to at the moment.

"So...second left. Got it," he mumbled to himself resignedly, taking hold of his drip stand as he made his way toward the bathroom.

He wouldn't leave.

Not yet.

* * *

Several floors above, a surveillance camera feed filmed Dr. Banner heading down the hall, but it was widely unattended at the moment.

Tony was slouched on the plush seat of his sofa, watching television with quiet eyes. He was dressed in a fresh new suit and had just come back, in fact, from being 'out on urgent business.' His arms crossed over his chest, tie loosened, he didn't move when the elevator opened up behind him and he heard bootsteps scraping slowly across the cool floor. He knew it wasn't Banner. But he'd been expecting him, and had let him and only him up to the penthouse level. All the other floors-especially Banner's floor-were on lockdown.

Ross sat down on the couch next to him, and watched TV with him like it was nothing.

"Ah, yeah. You know, I heard about this guy the other day. _Biggest_ dumbass I've ever seen," he commented dryly after a while, gesturing at the news program with his good arm. The other was in a sling, and he moved stiffly, like he was wrapped up in gauze. "Attacked an upstanding general, completely unprovoked while they were chasing down some fugitive. Looks like the Army isn't going to take that lightly. Especially from a former _weapons dealer _who's unwilling to share formidable _weapon technology _with the government."

Tony pushed his tongue on the back of his teeth, pursing his lips in irritation.

"How'd the hearing go, Stark?" Ross prodded again.

"I know what you want, and you're not getting him," Stark said finally, rolling his head to face him. "So like I said, you can go fuck yourself."

"_Oooof._ You're so quick with the insults. Look, I'm on your side here." he patronized. "I don't want to waste Sam's tax dollars on a court hearing against _Tony Stark_, are you crazy?" He chuckled, patting Tony's stiff shoulder. "That's why I came by. To talk to you _mano y mano_, try and work this out, fix it up so we can make this all just a _big _misunderstanding. Because otherwise, things are going to get really messy for you and everyone tied to you, and that wouldn't be good for any of us."

Tony stared at the screen, watching the cleverly doctored footage released to the press, which was being played over and over-Banner had been nearly cut out completely, the emphasis was on Iron Man clocking Thunderbolt into a wall and firing repulsor bolts at U.S. soldiers. It wasn't much, but it had folks in Times Square and all over the country beginning to gather, beginning to utter Tony's old name in question, with disgusting familiarity.

Merchant of Death.

"I'm getting really tired of hearing your voice, Ross," Tony warned in a low voice. It took him a great effort not to clench his teeth. "Tell me what you want and get your sorry ass off my property."

Their eyes locked. Ross offered a slow, charismatic smile.

The kind he used to have when Stark rolled up with a whole truckload of new weapons to deal.


	19. The Questions I Asked

A/N: As usual, I just wanna thank you guys who have been following since the start and those who are just jumping in for being such awesome readers! Seriously, you rock and you've really inspired me to keep this story moving. Lots of feels in this chapter, partly why it took me so long. xD Enjoy, and R/R!

* * *

He was fairly certain he spent a good hour in the bath. His washed out memories and a few layers of grime shy confirmed he'd bathed somewhere in the last few days, but really, that hadn't been nearly enough. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, and all the familiar scrapes and marks came back, until the beds of his nails were close to clean.

The amount of procrastination he'd taken in his own care felt embarrassing now, the way the water ran silty for a while before finally, finally it ran clear. But on his own, with each day overlapsing into the other, thinking just one more day and I'll find a spot to settle down, a quell in the stream, a good rainy day and a rural spot; I'll just sit and relax-those times had been few. He could probably count them on his fingers. Maybe his toes.

The hot water felt amazing.

Halfway through, the drip was getting in the way so he gently pried it out. Luckily, there was barely any blood since he was careful. Just to be safe, he used the tape to cover it back up and slid back beneath the heavenly pressure of the water, running it again through the thick, overgrown tangles of his hair and smoothing it over his face, sighing in relief against the heat.

He wondered where Tony was, and what sort of business was so important that he'd leave someone he dragged all the way from France in an empty flat tied to saline, with only a computer to talk to. Not that he could complain-this was by far the safest choice.

He couldn't punch Jarvis in the face for being an idiot.

He sighed and shut his eyes against the heated stream, finally reaching to shut it off. The residual sound of the water dripping off of his body filled his ears as he leaned forward against the tile wall a moment before he reached for a towel. Little by little, images were being fed to him, sounds, noises. Things that made his pulse spike and bees swarm around his ears. Like the memory of Tony's neck in his wringing hands, the man's eyes bulging in fear as he struggled for his life beneath him.

Being told he was okay, safe and cared about.

He couldn't decide which one was the nightmare yet.

He pulled an undershirt over his head and then after, a light brown shirt and some slacks. Everything was just the slightest bit larger than him; made for someone just the slightest bit taller. But that was fine. It was comfortable; that's all that ever mattered to Banner; though it smelled like Tony. He pressed the soft collar of the shirt curiously to his nose once picked up the scent of him and the particular detergent, sort of an upscale Old Spice aroma-only the barest traces because these hadn't been worn in a while.

He stopped and paused at the sight of himself in the mirror, frowning.

How did he know what Tony smelled like?

_I need you to breathe in-_

His hand went involuntarily to his chest, grasping the earthen fabric.

Bruce blinked slowly, several times, breathing slowly to adjust to a sudden rise in pulse. Even after the physical excitement calmed, the pressure in his chest didn't fade. He stared back at himself sullenly, letting out a sigh. His hand slid down to his stomach, pressing in against it and bringing his attention to another sort of pain.

_I just need something to eat._

* * *

And that's what Tony found him doing, when he finally came down. The elevator door slid open without a noise, all the permissions relifted now that Ross was gone. He'd changed into his Black Sabbath shirt, a comfortable pair of jeans, and padded the floor in his socks. He'd showered, too-even though he already had today. He felt filthy just being in the room with Thunderbolt, whose words still echoed dryly in his head.

_You're a smart businessman, and I'm a patient old coot. Get back to me in a couple of days. Don't wait too long, though._

He stood there for a little while, watching Bruce. The man was leaning over the table with a bunch of the leftover takeout he'd mentioned (he hadn't had a chance to stock the fridge on this floor yet, so honestly he'd just grabbed whatever hadn't yet gone south in his). He could smell all the mixed scents-some pork fried rice, some curry chicken, half a shawarma wrap-some of it didn't really look cooked through completely. Like they just been tossed in the microwave for a couple of minutes and taken out as they were.

It was only too clear though that Bruce didn't give a god damn whether they were actually cooked through or not.

Tony's gaze fixed on a half-damp curl that had been clasping to the back of his scalp, but as gravity took it it just fell over to the front, as Bruce ate like he was a starving animal. Actually, he stopped to pace himself constantly, but he couldn't seem to harness control over his want to overfill his mouth. His hands were in a constant careful, but desperate perpetuation between picking up food, holding food, or reaching for more.

When Bruce paused to catch his breath (Jesus Christ, he wasn't even letting himself breathe) Tony just wanted to reach out and stop him and warn him he was going to make himself sick with that sort of speed, but didn't have the heart to. His mind pitter-pattered backward in time to the last time he felt anything to that kind of hunger, back in the caves. Sure, they hadn't let him starve, per se-they had wanted too much out of him to let him starve-but he remembered, even then, even with his stubbornness to have a press conference, he couldn't wait to have that burger. That something that reminded him that safety was real, that comfort was tangible and he'd never see the inside of that cave again.

But there was nothing comforting or comfortable about the way Bruce was eating.

As though he were trying to eat as much as he could, as fast as he could, as carefully as he could manage, in case he didn't have such a chance again in the future.

Bruce stopped midbite into the shawarma, and Tony feared he actually had made himself sick. But instead the man calmly reached for a napkin he'd set there, and put down the food, and wiped his mouth. Just completely turned the hunger off.

"You know, I'm not sure how long you've been there, but you're kind of creeping me out not saying anything like that."

Bruce didn't turn to look at him, but there was no point to that, was there? Stark cleared his throat and fell into motion, sauntering calmly around and to the table, sliding into a chair. Normally, he'd have no problems joining in, grabbing a plate and easily downing at least half of the spread. But at the moment, he couldn't even think comically about taking a bite of it from the physicist. "Wasn't that long," he lied. "Didn't wanna interrupt anything. How'd you sleep? How ya feeling?"

When Banner didn't answer, Tony dipped his head in a dubious sort of gesture to accept the awkwardness into the room. His eyes lowered to the container of curry chicken, reaching out to tap his fingers on the edge of it. He could feel those brown eyes burning into his forehead. Scorching as they trailed down his face and to his neck. He'd put something on to try and cover the marks, but Banner wasn't stupid. He knew they were there. "So listen, I-"

"You keep-" Bruce interrupted suddenly, stopped, and then reapproached it more calmly. Tony glanced up, and felt his stomach cave in as their eyes locked and the sound of his voice and the tone he used struck deep beneath the nerves. "You keep telling me to listen. Listen to...what?"

He shifted in his chair to face him better. It looked like it was harder for him than he thought. "Are you having second thoughts? About chasing me down like an animal, and putting me through hell, and making it so Ross knows where I am, and putting countless people in danger by bringing me back to one of the most populated cities on _Earth_?"

Slow, patient, pointed. Furious beneath the skin. Deep beneath where no one could reach; that is, until Tony tried.

He swallowed down the guilt, looked down at Bruce's folding hands, before stating honestly, "No."

"Then what exactly, do you want me to listen to?" he asked calmly.

"Look, you have to believe me. I'm not with Ross. I'm not the bad guy here-"

"I know you aren't, but _I am_!"

It stopped Tony dead in his tracks, flushed every thought out so all he was cognizant of was his heart clamping down. He met Banner's eyes again, and god, his mouth went dry at the sight of him. The light that caught in his eyes as they fixed on him-it was intense and all of his sincerity was being poured into his carefully drawn words.

"I don't run because I like it, Tony. I do it because I have to. I do it because_ I am the bad guy_, don't you get it? I'm sorry that leaving you there that day hurt your precious feelings, but this is a little more important than you. There are people I run from and then people I run for. There isn't an in between for me, there's no middle ground where I stay put."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Tony uttered finally, rolling his eyes. "_Bravo_. How many times have you run through that line with people? Because it really sounds like even you're starting to believe it." A heat itched beneath his own skin, an irritation of this old trope. He crossed his arms, leaning forward on the table. "Quick question; do you eat out of the garbage?"

"What?" The blink that followed was priceless.

"It's a simple question, Big Guy. When you're on the run, do you eat garbage? You know, out of garbage cans. The back of restaurants for the good stuff, do you do that?"

Bruce was looking at him like he was crazy. "I-eat what I have to eat."

"So you do. Okay."

He interjected, "That's not what-"

Tony leaned back, rubbing his chin and then gesturing at the food on the table. "That explains why when I came in here you were trying to choke yourself on my leftovers."

"Look, I've had nothing but _saline _in-"

"What else? Come on, tell me. This is thirdspace. Where do you sleep? How long do you travel each day? How long had it been since your last shower, your last clean, actually _clean_ change of clothes? What did you do for money? Shelter? Your last haircut? What did you do when you were sick? How many times were you sick? Who took care of you, Bruce, anybody? What did you do when you needed medicine?"

The man's mouth parted, but no sound came out, just a stressed knitting of his brows. Tony didn't let up the barrage. He leaned closer and put the final nail in. Bruce leaned back.

"When was the last time you had a conversation with someone, like an actual one, with someone who actually wanted to talk to you? What did you do when you were so fucking lonely you wanted to put a _bullet _in your mouth?"

That managed to make Bruce flinch, but he didn't have an answer for Tony. He didn't have an easy answer for any of those questions. And Stark knew it. And Stark didn't care if it made him uncomfortable, if he put him under pressure.

Because that was the fucking _point_.

He leaned back, giving the recovering physicist some air. Because Bruce was being so calm, so cool, but Stark knew he needed it.

"Because these are just some of the questions I've been asking myself about you every day for the past year, Bruce, and if you don't have an answer for me, I'm going to assume that you haven't bothered rehearsing bullshit answers for them like you have about explaining why you run. No one ever asks you those questions, do they? You don't give them a chance. Well, I'm cutting you off at the pass. I'm taking one, whether you want to give it or not."

Matter of fact, businesslike. Like science. It was a simple equation he'd just presented. Tony's lips pressed in a firm line, eyes inky with a cold resolve. He watched carefully, silently coming apart at the seams. He couldn't tell if the man was withdrawing into himself or if he had actually taken in anything he just said, but he swore he could hear the tired gears beneath that brown and peppered mop grinding. And it hurt, it hurt to know he was doing this even as he was rushing headlong into it, but he couldn't stop now.

Bruce was the one to break the stare this time.

"So-what? You really want answers?" the physicist asked after a while, in a tentative voice. "You really want to...know those things?"

_More than you fucking know, _Tony thought.

"Eventually." He shrugged. "To those; to other questions. However it goes. I'd like it if I could answer some of yours, too." He looked a lot calmer than he was as he reached for the container with the shawarma wrap in it, taking a bite of it to calm his nerves. Then he put it down and slid it closer to Bruce.

"Right now, I want you to finish eating. Really, clean it off. Pepper gets bitchy if when I let the takeout pile up."

His lips twitched, but Bruce still looked unsure.

"It's like what I said before." _Let me catch you._ "Humor me on this. Just for a little while."

"Ross?" Bruce asked quietly.

Tony's jaw worked silently behind a brilliantly practiced poker face.

"Taken care of."

A few moments passed before Bruce quietly shifted his seat closer to the table, picked up his fork and took a humble stab at a half warm pork dumpling. He continued eating quietly, and at a reasonable pace.

The engineer didn't think he'd ever been so happy to sit in silence for any extended period of time.


	20. When the Air Is Dead or Comfortable

A/N: At long last, Chapter 20! So sorry for the delay in getting this up. The past week has been filled with trying to get my upcoming semester in order, and some unexpected domestic disturbances that have made writing at home pretty hard to do. But hopefully I can get back on track now! Already halfway into Chapter 21.

To those who asked if other characters from the Avengers Universe would be starring in this fic, I can definitely tell you now: Yes. Definitely yes.

Thank you so much, all of you who have been following faithfully and inspiring me to continue with your feedback and thoughts. Please R/R! =)

* * *

The halls of the palace had long since fallen quiet from the raucous banquet that had taken place in celebration of something Thor still couldn't find the joy in. It was a celebration in memory of the death of the Jotun king in the very chamber where Odin slept.

It was supposed to be a feast in memory of the king himself, for while the frost giant Laufey had died their enemy, he had still been a great king of his own people, a leader of one of the Nine Worlds, and was owed remembrance.

So while many took this chance to subtly celebrate that he had died, that he had been slain in the very heart of the palace (by a man they would not mention), Thor could find no pleasure in that.

The tunnels of the abyssal gaols of Asgard were even farther silent, and further dark. Above, even when alone, the Odinson paced with a quiet smile for all, but there was no cause for ceremony here.

His hands rested around the edges of the heavy tray he'd laden with food and drink for his brother.

The trickster knelt in his cell where Thor had left him just the previous day. It was the finest cage Thor had ever seen. Ironically, it looked so much like the tank they had built for the monster inside Bruce Banner, carved of the strongest glass, infused with the essence of the void-when activated, the god could hear or speak nothing within the cell, not even his own thoughts. At first, this treatment had brought out only more of the god's hateful words when they were together, but in the last few months, Loki had grown despondent and silent even when he had the ability to speak.

Thor pressed his hand to the runes and made the artless dance across them; they reacted as they would only for the son of Odin and with a single audible gasp of air, like the clarion call of a wisp, the doors meshed open to let him pass.

In response to the spell's barriers temporarily withheld, Loki's body slackened over, eyes fell shut. He'd been told it was a residual effect from the mental noise of his thoughts returning. Thor tried to ignore it and took that moment to set down the tray upon the low table, and take a seat.

"I..." he began, and his voice was too loud in the empty space. He knew because Loki flinched, startled now from external sound after another day of utter silence. The demigod swallowed silently, spoke softer. "I tried to bring your favorite things, brother. There was a glorious feast today." He didn't have the heart to say for what occasion, but he imagined Loki knew too well. "I couldn't remember if you care for starfruit, but I did bring some. Do you? Care for..."

Loki lifted his rain-colored eyes to the god of thunder, and didn't say anything-but it made Thor lose his own thoughts. Pursing his lips hard together, he lowered to sit in front of Loki. The trickster's arms were bound behind him in intricate shackles that suppressed his magic. Those he could not remove, so Thor fed him.

He remembered that at first these attempts had resulted in Loki spitting at him, and cursing his name; but he supposed he'd become too hungry to be proud, or too broken to be angry. So it was with mixed feelings now that Thor watched the prisoner complacently eat and drink from his hand. In a way, he wished the fiery temper had remained.

Because at least when they were screaming at each other, they had been talking.

"Do you care for it?" Thor asked again, as Loki swallowed. The trickster looked down at the tray, then nodded slowly. And that was all for a while. That was all the Odinson asked for. He then continued to speak without need for his brother's input; talked about the goings on, about whatever crazy thing Volstagg had most recently done, talked about Jane.

These days, he talked about Jane Foster more than he knew he should. If Father knew he was speaking to Loki at all, he would be furious with him, but the topic was especially dangerous. Though, he could not shake the memory of Loki addressing him about her with tears in his eyes-nor could he deny that he missed her dearly and could not be with her.

So if could manage somehow to tell that story to show this much was also true when it came to his brother, perhaps it would be worth it.

Sometimes he tried to believe that all the words stayed put in this cell, and because he was Loki's brother, because he wanted to defy the spell, that the words transcended and stayed with him when Thor was gone.

But he knew it wasn't true.

One thing was, though-when he spoke of Jane, sometimes he could tell Loki was listening, more times than others, with something other than apathy.

So he talked of her and fed him his meal, and went to leave as usual. However, this time, Loki stopped him.

"Brother," he said aloud suddenly to Thor's back. Broken, as though uncertain.

Thor spun around because his heart did before any of the rest of him, and he was met by pleading eyes.

"Please-don't leave," he choked out in the smallest voice Thor had ever heard. "Brother, I -I love you."

He brushed his red cloak from his arm and in moments he hastened back to him, pushing aside the low table with a swipe of his foot and kneeling, taking Loki by the shoulders with a force that made the slender man flinch. When he realized that, Thor nearly embraced him-but for the life of him he couldn't.

For he had seen this look before in Loki, and thought he knew it well by now, and his side burned with the memory of betrayal, as did his heart that was always so big before to hold Loki close and safely, in sweet, blind, blind _blind_ ignorance.

After all that had happened, it had shrunk just enough to keep his younger brother from fitting comfortably and that was the greatest torment he had ever known.

Now, Loki looked hopeful, and Thor was the despondent one.

"My brother," he uttered out, though it caused him great pain. It showed. "I never shall. Never. But you did this. To your _own_ self,_ do you not understand_?"

When Loki did not drop the face that Thor prayed and wanted to reveal to be fake, his booming voice fell to whispers, his sunkissed face pale and his strong eyes brimmed with hurt.

"You are-" It was as dragging life itself from his throat, so jarring he pressed his hand to Loki's thin cheek and _clutched_; his thumb pressed into the bone that bridged that face he'd known all of his life, "-_so fortunate_, as to even be alive and spared this much after all you have done. You did this to yourself, and I cannot save you now."

He watched Loki struggle for the thing to say, and he almost laughed in spite.

_How many lies are you flipping through, trying to find the right fit? Perhaps I never could save you. Maybe this was all so folly and useless._

"Your silver words, they will not avail you any longer. They can_not_." Thor's voice cracked, and seemed to wake him from his lapse in temper. He released Loki and rose to his feet, leaving the tray behind as he hurried from the cell.

Loki began to rise.

"Thor, wait-"

The words collapsed back into Loki's throat as Thor thrust his palm to the runes and reactivated the spell; the door meshed closed like all the gates of Loki's mind, a mind so much greater than Thor's, with so much more potential than the king-to-be. And Thor watched as they did, as the glaze traced back over the Laufeyson's eyes and he became docile like any creature caught in the frightening void where there is no noise.

His great armor-laden shoulders sagged over with pain as Laufeyson sank back down to his knees, and moved no more.

* * *

Once it was clear Bruce had eaten his fill, Tony clapped his hand on the table.

"So, wanna do anything? I'm actually all cleared up for this afternoon. We can go out. I can show you Candyland. Whatever you want. What would _you _like to do on your first day back to not running? And being conscious."

The man looked of brighter spirits already; even the light of the reactor looked a little brighter, but he knew that was just a trick of the light. Bruce wouldn't help but not smile, just a little, but rose from the table without a word and walked out of the kitchen, feet dragging a little behind him. He didn't return to the bedroom, though, so Tony followed curiously.

As Bruce entered what he discovered was a lounge room, complete with a sofa and a wide screen television, Tony scratched the back of his neck and thought to try and give him a tour. "Oh yeah, I guess you're not really familiar with the place. There's..."

The physicist reached for the remote on the coffee table and then sat down on the plush sofa,, turning on the TV. He blinked as Tony seemed to jump from his skin.

"Uh-just an FYI, the cable might not be, um, wo-" It was working. It turned on to the default channel, a public broadcast channel.

Bruce glanced up at him curiously as the soft noise of generic music filled the otherwise quiet room, and they locked gazes. He was much better at hiding secrets than Tony, much better at holding them in-or he liked to think so-so he knew immediately there was something the man was trying to hide.

Instead of saying anything, he punched in buttons to change the station, to a channel with some old movie playing, and just sat there and watched for a while. He could almost hear the silent 'Oh' fall from Tony's lips, as the tinny voices entered the room from the scene playing out on the screen.

_"At least people in plays act like they've got sense."_

_"Oh, you think so? Did you ever see anybody in a play act like they got any intelligence?"_

Bruce's lips twitched even though he didn't get the joke, and Tony walked around and lowered down on the other side of the sofa, easing back into the cushions. In return, he drew up his legs after a few minutes, and shifted to get comfortable.

"What's this, anyway?" Tony said, resting his arms over the back of the sofa. Bruce shook his head slightly, not taking his eyes off the television.

"I have no idea," Bruce admitted faintly. "Never seen it before. Looks really old."

He felt Tony's eyes on him, and could almost feel whatever was being pent up inside him weighing down the cushions with its weight. The billionaire didn't say anything, and for now, Bruce was okay with that.

But the next time something funny happened in the old black and white, they both chuckled at it together.

* * *

Even though he'd given him a leash of a few days to think it over, Ross knew he wouldn't take it. That was how Stark worked-as much as he enjoyed stalling matters and buying time, decisions weren't something he liked to make after sure consideration. Maybe it was a pride thing; maybe he just wanted to be that guy who liked to think he could make the good decisions under fire. Like a hero, or something. Like a soldier-the thought made Thunderbolt smirk every time. He'd seen the news. He'd seen the footage of his little stunt with the nuclear missile. And it didn't make a damn bit of difference to the general.

Tony Stark was a man of privilege and no matter how many metal men he built around himself and no matter how many fancy gadgets he tacked onto it, he would never have what it took to be a soldier. It didn't matter what kind of hero he'd shown himself to be.He would never actually have what it took to be that kind of man.

Neither would Banner, but for entirely different reasons.

But he got the phone call late that night, telling him what he wanted to hear-even if the man sounded like he wanted to strangle him through the phone.

_"Alright, let's get this straight, pops. If I give you what you want-exactly what we specified-you'll call off your dogs and end this."_

"That's right. One big misunderstanding."

_"And you'll keep your hands off the Doc."_

"Why would _I _need him, then? He'll be all yours." Ross licked his lips and smiled faintly.

_"It'll take me a few days. Three days." _

"That's fine. Just don't wait too long. People are starting to question just what kind of man you are. Tell me, Stark-just what _are _you, anyway?"

He could almost hear the billionaire's teeth grinding.

_"You'll have it." _Click.

It felt good, hearing what he wanted to hear for once.

He clicked the phone off and decided to relish in the victory. Even though it was important to proceed, he had been around long enough to know that every victory had to count. He lifted the condensating glass of tequila to his lips and took a quiet sip, letting the sweet deceptive liquor touch his tired mind; then tilted it back and drank it down in a matter of swallows. It helped the edges of the darkness in the room blur together so that the unfamiliar looked familiar and vice versa, and that's the way Thunderbolt liked it nowadays.

It gave him a sense of deniability about things.

He made the call.

_"Yes?" _the voice on the other end asked.

"Just got off the phone with Stark. We'll have what we need in a few days."

_"That's just fine," _she said.

His thumbprint smeared the side of the mist on the glass and Ross began to speak reluctantly, but the air on the line was dead again.


	21. Late

A/N: This is a short chapter, but I'm already working on 22. :) Please R/R! They really keep me going.

* * *

When Tony left that evening, it was before he made that call to Ross, after an afternoon of watching one old classic movie after the other with Bruce. Neither said much to the other during that time, and it wasn't exactly how Tony was used to spending his time (not in constant motion), but it worked. Bruce seemed perfectly content to just sit perfectly still for a while, and if he was comfortable, then the engineer could be comfortable too.

Or at least, for as long as he could stay still, which turned out to be a valiant few hours. At some point into the current film though, he blanked out a little on the screen he was staring at, trying to rehearse a way out of the room that wouldn't be completely rude to the man he'd literally dragged here from Paris. Even though he knew he had things he had to take care of, things he'd put off longer than he wanted to so he could be in the doctor's company, and now were making him altogether restless. Decisions to make. _He's been through hell, but this might not be over yet._

_"Where's your grandfather?"_

_"He's up on the mountain, cutting some logs..."_

A light pressure on his thigh broke through his thoughts. He glanced over to see Bruce had fallen asleep-by the looks of it, a while ago-his arms wrapped around a large throw pillow he'd pulled from behind him to make more room for himself. Half his face pressed in to mute the snores Tony would have heard otherwise, his legs were subconsciously seeking relief by stretching from the curled position he'd sunk into against the arm. His foot had shifted to rest on his lap in its quest for more space. In the shadow of the stormy afternoon and the television's glow, and the light ambience from his own chest, all Tony could see was one softly shut eye and a slackened mouth against the beige corduroy fabric of the pillow, framed in an overgrown mess of hair. All of it in a soft, slow procession of rising, falling, rising-so different from the drugged sleep where he looked dead; he actually looked a little peaceful.

_Seems like all I do lately is watch you sleep. This should be incredibly boring._

Tony's breath caught; he blinked and his eyes stayed half lidded. He untangled his arms-they'd ended up crossing over his chest again-and reached out to touch him, because suddenly Bruce looked so perfect that it couldn't possibly be real.

(Because this suddenly reeked of everything he thought might happen when he brought Bruce back with him, what little hopes were left that hadn't been dashed by all the reality; it couldn't possibly be _tangible_. And he was a wreck, a hopeless wreck if he couldn't try to prove his assumptions at least a _fraction_ right.)

Outside the thunder boomed, though, and while Bruce didn't stir to that, he of course chickened out. He grabbed the blanket hanging over the back instead, pulled at it gradually to cover him up.

Yup. A hopeless wreck. That's what _he_ was.

_"Now you get on your coat and mittens. We're going away-"_

_"I don't want to go away!"_

_"What?"_

Bruce's eye flickered open for just a moment, but no sooner did a lazily wide pupil turn to him, caught the glare of the blue circle of light in his chest, did it shut again, mumbling half against the pillow some sleep-tumbled variation of 'thanks'.

He could have been anyone, about to do anything to the light sleeper, but there was 'thanks' for Tony.

_"I want to stay here. I love the Grandfather and he loves me. It's my birthday and we're going to have a party..."_

Tony's throat clenched tight, and all the inhibitions that had been plaguing him suddenly thrust into reverse like an old convertible into the Hudson.

Oh no. It was definitely over. Bruce was going to be kept safe, no matter what it took.

_"Well, he won't mind you going on a little trip with me." _

He gently scooted out from beneath Bruce's leg and stood up. Bruce stirred again, blinking up at him with bleary lidded eyes.

"...time is it?" He glanced at the voices on the TV, but that did nothing to tell him the time.

"Late," Tony lied quietly, smirking. The storm darkening the room was on his side. "Gonna head to the sack myself. You, me, Candyland," he glanced at his watch, but not really, "First thing tomorrow?"

Bruce barely nodded before he nodded off again. Tony wondered how long it would take the man to get all of the exhaustion of the past months out of his system. He wondered if he would try to run again once he did, wondered if this would last and where it would go.

And how the _hell_ had he fallen so hard.

"Night, Bruce."

Once it was clear Bruce was out like a light, he ducked his head down and eased out of the room, pace quickening back to normal once he was in the hallway heading for the elevator.

Stark had been low before. So, so low. And he'd go lower, too, if that's what it took.

_"And can I come right back, in time for my party?"_

_"Now, didn't I tell you you could?"_

* * *

When she slipped into bed finally, he put his arm around her and pulled her into the curve of his body, appreciating her warmth. But even in his half-awakedness, he could tell she was widely so, and opened his eyes a bit to peer at her curiously. "Hm. Time is it?"

"Late," Betty whispered, the smile in her voice visible even if he couldn't see her in the dark. "I'm not sure, but think I know where he is right now."

"Bruce?" the psychiatrist guessed after a moment's pause. But he didn't have to guess, he already knew. She only mentioned one person with _that _tone of voice.

"Yeah. I think he's back in New York." He saw the whites of her eyes glistening in the dark. "Everything about what happened on the news...they're keeping it so vague, and Dad won't say anything to me, but I have this feeling that he's what this is all over. I think I'm going to go find him, Leonard. He needs to know about the progress I've made on the research. Maybe it will help him."

He exhaled quietly, rubbing his hand up along her thigh. "Maybe it would. I won't say no, but...he might not want to be found. It might be safer if you don't right now."

Betty smiled softly. "It'll be fine." She leaned in and kissed him. And well, he wouldn't say no to that either.


	22. Someone on the Same Level

Greeting Tony Stark in the morning was a tricky practice. It was sort of like going on safari. One needed to have a taste for tracking that particular species of man.

Because it was ten o' clock in the morning and his bed was made. Another woman would have been impressed. They would have assumed that it meant he was up bright and early, and maybe wondered at the half bottle of scotch on the bedside table and the missing glass; in either case, he'd made the bed, anyway. They would have been sadly misled, and that's why Pepper Potts was still his personal assistant.

Because she knew this meant he hadn't even been to bed. Maybe he'd tried to put himself down, but the scotch hadn't been enough.

The soft click of her heels on the hardwood resounded through the penthouse apartment, fully restored with the rest of the tower from all the fun she'd missed last year, with of course some extra flair—because that's what Tony did, he didn't just try and fix things, he always aimed for some ridiculous level of perfection. She tossed an abandoned t-shirt into the bathroom hamper before walking into the kitchen.

And _aha_, there was the glass of scotch, empty of everything but a soft line of tinted water from ice long melted, sitting right next to the coffee pot that had timed off and only had half a cup lurking still and dark at the bottom of it. No mug in sight, she reached out and pressed the back of her hand to the glass of the pot. Still warm. Her rose lips rolled together and her eyes shut patiently.

Oh, it hadn't been a good night for him at _all_.

She found him on L-10, on a floor scooter with a wrench in a suspended shoulder section of one of the suits. He'd tossed his protective visor to the side and his hair showed the evidence of having worn it the majority of the night, sweat shaping it into something as gravity defying as the music he was playing. His eyes were dark and sober, the alcohol in his system having sweated itself out through tireless work and doses of caffeine, greasing his arms and his face with dried sweat along with oil. They flickered in her direction once and then were back on whatever miniscule gear was currently making the crease between his eyebrows lengthen.

She didn't bother announcing herself, she knew he knew. Pep just crossed her arms over the planner in her arms and waited until he slid out from beneath the machinery, and reached for her hand. The only thing she was allowed to hand him.

Another woman would have found that romantic, but they'd also be sadly misled.

"You look _fantastically_ cheery," Tony commented, using more his strength than hers to haul himself up to his feet. He sauntered past her to his work desk and grabbed a soiled shop towel, wiping his face and then throwing it in the low bottom sink. "And you smell like a lawyer. That's confusing."

"That's because I was at the meeting this morning with yours," she informed him smoothly.

"And? What do the boys have to say?" he uttered, walking past her again and bringing up a computer panel, thumping away into the database and bringing up a smattering of holographic images of his project.

"Well, there's going to be a postponing on your official arrest. Apparently there's a call for 'further investigation' on their end. Ross' people were really tight lipped about it, but they said they wanted a clear shot before they fired at you."

"Ah, so they're learning and growing. Good news all around," Tony quipped, grabbing his coffee mug and draining the cold remnants as he seemed to grab with his other hand one of the illusory pieces, reading through the text that read out beside it.

"I'm surprised you're not asking if they've leaked Banner yet."

"Have they?"

"No."

"Of course not. And they won't. If Banner's face makes the press and suddenly he's involved, everyone will know what Ross is up to. Not to mention someone will find a way to twist it around so that people think the Avengers Initiative is some street gang going around whopping the U.S. Army and working against the government interest. In France. Or something. And let's face it, they've been working to pin me in particular for a while. They're not going to get messy about it now."

"Sounds like you've done some thinking about it."

"Sounds like it," he replied, looking at her plainly. Tossing the holograph over his shoulder (it made a shattered window noise and the entire screen went blank), he crossed his arms. "What else you got for me? As you can see, I'm a bit busy."

There was a pause between them as they both took a long, quiet breath. It was the most they'd spoken since Paris.

"Listen, Tony." She started slow. "Maybe you should really…"

"Really what." He set his mug down, hard. "Tell Bruce? Oh yeah, because he really needs to know this. I promised him I would keep him safe, Pep. I promised him this was taken care of. If I tell him what Ross is gunning for, he will _walk_ to the nearest army base and turn himself in because he's the kind of guy that would do that. I'm not. I'm not going to let these idiots run him down like an animal anymore. What happened in Paris was just _a love tap_ compared to what they have planned and if I have to go back to being called a merchant of death, if that's what it takes—"

As much as he needed to empty that nonsense into the air, she had to put a stop to it. Before he circled-talked himself blue in the face. Before she lost deniability and had to put a stop to other things. "Tony." She shook her head lightly. "I was just saying, maybe you should really get some sleep."

He rolled his shoulders forward and leaned back on the work desk, gripping the edge in his palms. He angled his face down, and she could see it—he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. But she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Why…would people start calling you that again?" she murmured curiously, moving toward him slowly. She was trying to meet his eyes. Failing to.

"Oh let's be truthful here," he muttered sullenly, staring off over her shoulder. "They never stopped."

Sighing, she shook her head. "Now's not the time to…"

He startled. Froze. Woke up. "Time. What time is it?"

"It's like ten thirty something, why?"

And in a flash, he had slipped past her, taking the leather bound digital planner from her arms. "Banner. This is for me, right?"

And just like that, he changed channels.

"Yeah, but I wanted to go over the…" she turned around, only got halfway.

"I've got it. I'm a big boy." Suddenly his arm draped over her and he bumped his lips to the side of her head. "Also cranky. And deluded. You're the best and stuff. You know?"

"You have a conference call with—"

"It's in the planner?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then I've got it! Go—go do whatever you do when you're not fussing over me, go."

But then he was gone first.

* * *

"So, here's the scoop. You basically have the run of the mill, here. The elevator here can take you to any level. L-10 is usually where I'm at nowadays, requires special authorization-which you have, by the way."

Bruce stared at the metal wall inside the elevator, and then down at his feet, taking a deep breath.

"What's on L-10?" he asked just as Tony was going to push the button.

Tony paused and sent him a stare. "My vintage Playboy collection," he said dryly, followed by a grin. "What do you think? Candyland's town hall, Bruce." He went to push the button again, but paused once more, turning his head in Bruce's direction.

"And by that, I mean that's where I work on the suits."

"Yeah," Bruce nodded, raising his eyebrows. "I gathered that-pretty quickly, actually."

"Just checking." Tony went to press the button, but yet again stopped and addressed him in a low, semi-serious voice. "Now, what you're about to see might shock and thrill you. You know. Little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous-"

"Hey, _Wonka_." Bruce exhaled in a deadpan voice.

"Yes." Tony leaned in attentively, with a mischievous poker face.

"Just push the damn button," the physicist murmured, the corner of his lips twitching.

"_Just_ checking." Tony raised his hands in surrender, then pushed the button and half stepped back as the elevator began to rise. He didn't see Bruce's slightly exasperated smile.

It melted though into an expression of slight surprise as the doors opened up to the tenth level. Tony sauntered out and slipped easily into the fray of things he'd left scattered that morning, snapping the computers panels back on. Bruce stepped out and followed at a slower pace, taking care not to trip on anything. His hands dug into his pockets.

"Wow. It's…so this is really where you work on them."

The tone in Banner's voice sent Tony's grin splitting a mile wide.

"You got it. First two marks are locked up in my garage in Malibu, four through eight are here." He swept his arm over at the three suits and a locked up suitcase sitting up on the wall. "Eight's…still a fixer upper," he added as a side note as he walked by the partial suspension, thwacking it gently with the back of his hand.

"Why, what's wrong with eight?" Bruce asked on a delayed note, turning from where he was admiring the suits on display. His hands were still in his pockets as he approached the work area again, like he was going to break something if he took them out. Tony shrugged, grasping onto the metal suit fragment.

"Just not going the way I thought it would. There's something not working about the right shoulder adjustment. Jarvis, bring up the schematics, would ya?" In almost an instant, a multilayered holograph sprang from the back panel and seamlessly pushed itself through and past Bruce. It was only enough to make him turn his head curiously before he returned his attention to the projection.

And there was just a moment there where Tony looked through the blue and white and layered text and saw Bruce's eyes go a little wider with something close to delight, the apple of his throat bobbing once to adjust to how he turned up his head to study it, the silent question on his parted lips before he uttered it.

"This is amazing. There must be…more parts to this machine than in the human body. I mean, it looks complex enough just to the eye, but…"

Their eyes met. Banner looked back up.

"Sorry. What was the issue, again?"

Tony grinned and reached out to the shoulder quadrant that was identical to what he had hanging nearby, pulling it down and refocusing. "So here. Typically, what's supposed to happen is if I engage the lock here, it should be able to collapse out like…this, see?"

"Yeah," he replied tentatively.

"But it's not. This cable is jamming the gear and then everything locks up. No go. Busted. I've run it through the simulator like a hundred times, run the program for error. The schematic works perfectly on paper, so to speak. I took this apart and put it back together too many times to count, and it's just…" He threw his hands up in the air. "But whatever. It's in progress. Let me show ya something more to your—"

"Um. May I?" Bruce interjected reluctantly, gesturing at the suspended shoulder quadrant with one hand. It slipped back into his pocket.

Tony paused, knitting his brow. "Uh, yeah sure. Knock yourself out."

"Think I've had enough of that for a while, thanks." His lips twitched at his own subtle joke and he ducked his head beneath the suspension cord, moving around and then crouching down until he could see the exposed compartment. After a moment of squinting, he reached for a wrench from the open toolkit on the floor, and then reached into the complex network of gears with a certainty that, at first, sent the engineer into a panic.

"Uh, Bruce—"

He stopped immediately. Or seemed to. "Yeah?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I was going to say, you don't have to. You know." His mouth was dry. "Because I've been over it so many times myself without luck, you know, and I don't want you getting all bent up out of shape about—I know you want to help but-" Then he heard something unclamp, a hiss of pressure and a pop-twang of something coming off and fuck if his heart didn't slam to a halt behind its vibranium core. "Bruce. Bruce, what was that?"

The man responded with a soft (and in Tony's current perception, sadistic) chuckle.

"Relax. It was your problem."

"What?" He hit the adjuster on the suspension cord and lifted it up so he could inspect it while standing upright, coming up right beside Bruce to look at the spot he'd adjusted and the hunk of hardware he currently had clamped in the antimagnetic pliers he'd picked up at some point when Tony hadn't been looking. "No, that goes there. It definitely goes there."

"Something goes there, but not this piece," Bruce explained calmly. "It's too big."

"No it's not."

"The bore of the cylinder is too small, too. I think it's jamming up the initial hydraulic function that sets off the gearing collapse. That's why you have the cable jam down here. It's like…trying to pull off your sleeve with the cuff still buttoned, but backwards and…a better analogy." His brow crunched as he peered up at Tony's expression. "You don't look happy."

"Banner, this design is flawless, I already told you. The piece needs to be a 3.5mm, any smaller and it'll tear my arm off in de-suiting," Tony expressed flatly, clearly growing agitated. Never mind it was the way he'd talk to an intern, and he would hate himself for giving into pride later—he hadn't really wanted to get into this heap of scrap again today and here Banner was; the one thing Stark didn't want to deal with right now, that was the thing the man wanted to look at and not only look at but show him up on? On his own work?

"Then you'll be happy to know this is a 4.5mm," the physicist replied softly, holding it up. As Tony snatched the pliers and glared at it, he added with a zen-like note, "The design _is_ flawless. The engineer, though, he looks really tired and fed up."

Tony stared down only to have patient, almost concerned brown eyes gazing back up at him, waiting for—what was he waiting for? Exhaling sharply through his nose, he turned quickly to the work desk, thrusting open the compartment and going through things that clunked and jostled until he finally found what he wanted. He came back and grumbled, "Move," when he got to where Banner was now standing. "Please," he added with hardly any noise to it. Either way, Banner stepped passively out of the way. Hands back in his pockets.

A few minutes went by, as Tony went out making the adjustment with the new piece. The silence grew thick, so even the seasoned engineer startled when suddenly the shoulder fragment collapsed inwards with a hiss and a series of beautiful metallic clicks, and then to his whim, it peeled back up. His response was a strained belt of laughter that eventually became relieved.

"Fucking _fuck_," Tony cursed, throwing down the tool he'd used, though it was more than clear he was no longer angry. Not really. He'd split into a wide grin again. Another laugh heaved out of him. "You have any idea how long I spent…_fuck_."

"There you go," Bruce mumbled with a smile, taking off his glasses to clean them.

Hands on his hips, he looked at Banner incredulously. "You're really too brilliant for your own good, did anyone ever tell you that? What was it—put together an erector set when you were four, right?"

He didn't necessarily like the way the man didn't put his glasses back on right away.

"Yeah," he answered with his smile, but not-smile as he slid them onto his nose, "That's the part of the story people like to write down in my file. That's right."

Tony's smile faltered a bit, but he didn't know exactly how to respond to the way he said that.

"Well what I'm saying is maybe you should look into engineering as a weekend hobby. Looks like you have a good eye for—"

"You just needed a fresh pair of those," Bruce interjected gently. "Don't…mention it. You said you wanted to show me something else?"

He swallowed down the awkward, feeling much more awake than he had a moment ago.

"Yeah. Yeah, this way."


	23. It's Just a Demonstration

**A/N: Again, I just wanna thank all of you who have been following and giving such amazing feedback. I feel like I have the best readers on the planet. This chapter's just more tech porn, and emotions getting a little out of hand all around. I hope you enjoy it! Please R/R! =) **

* * *

The rest of the day unfolded into much of the Stark Tower grand tour as Tony had clearly been waiting to give him. He brought him to some of the lower levels of research and development, though they weren't nearly so hands on there—rather, they were passersby observing a myriad of other employees at work, all of which stopped to greet Mister Stark and his unassuming companion before getting on with their tasks.

Bruce followed along and let Tony lead, hands buried in the pockets of the white lab coat he'd been given when he'd been shown into one of the clean rooms on L-3 where a lot of the technical hardware was put together. The floors were all thrumming with productivity, everyone moving back and forth in a pre-established rhythm, and if he thought about it too long he felt like he was just in the way, the way that people swimming in a river were in the way of a current. But Tony dragged him through it unabashedly, filling his ears with shop talk on all of the company's up and coming developments and some pet projects for a benefactor (whom they both understood was S.H.I.E.L.D.), and after a while that's all he cared about.

By the time they were in development on L-5 where the force shield beta testing was taking place, the physicist was enthralled with the give and take and the meeting Tony toe for toe. It felt liberating, to actually say something and have someone completely understand, to hypothesize, discuss theory, argue—to agree and appreciate.

But a lot of arguing. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"So what you're saying is it's…a pseudo-Cap shield," Bruce observed plainly.

"It's a turbocharged plasma force dome shield."

"So...it's a pseudo Cap-shield."

"Everyone _says_ that. Shields have existed for thousands of years before him, okay? Look. It slaps onto your wrist like this." He took one of the prototypes from its casing and attached it onto his own wrist. His employees stood back and looked on, occasionally glancing at Bruce as though wondering who he was, to be getting such a demonstration. "Fancy, right? But then suddenly, boom, a squad of gunmen kick down your door. You're already going down for the count, or you're recovering a hostage, or running out into sniper fire. Whatever, okay? One push." He pressed the gauge on the side and stepped back.

Instantly, a hum spread out from his wrist and a translucent blue dome about three feet wide blossomed from the center mainframe, crackling with energy. Tony's face was warped and crackled behind the pane of crackling, compressed energy. "Voila. The final product I'm looking to have at least a six foot diameter, up from three, but this is it. Go on, doc. Touch it. It's safe."

Bruce looked up at him skeptically.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a joy kill?" he teased, lifting his arm and stretching, turning, moving in the large test space. "Completely weightless; gives complete protection from physical attack. Best of all, ricochet danger is a complete nonissue."

He lifted the shield toward Bruce, who still didn't touch it; however, the physicist moved closer and held his hand just above the surface of the blue field. It looked tentative like a flame, like any moment it would simply die out, but it didn't. As his fingertips drifted close he could feel an odd sort of static energy that seemed to pull and push at his fingertips at the same time, and it sent a thrill through every follicle of hair on his body.

"Wow." He licked his lips slightly and seemed to study the wristband—admiring the work, surmising that it actually might be safe to touch—when he felt Tony's eyes on him and he glanced up, waiting to hear the rest of the lecture or whatever it was that seemed to be brimming off his tongue.

He suddenly wanted to tell Tony he looked really tired—and this close, he could confirm he was hung over, from the smell of energy-burnt scotch on his skin. He wanted to suggest a break, because he couldn't remember Tony ever looking this tired and unwilling to admit it, not even after the attack.

But then suddenly, he knew Tony was onto his line of thinking; the dark eyed playboy smiled compulsively, and while that usually offered Bruce some amount of ease, right now it didn't feel right at all.

He suddenly gestured at one of the coat-adorned employers. "Hey—Richie, right-? Can we get the good doctor equipped for a quick demo, Richie?"

Bruce jerked his head at the assistant who immediately went to fulfill the request. "Wait, what are you—"

"It's fine, just a demonstration," Tony dismissed quickly, waving off the concern on his face. He was moving away from him. "We have some interns in the crowd, they'll love it. Gotta get paid somehow, am I right guys?"

And even then, he wasn't exactly certain what Tony meant, until Richie came back with a case and opened it, and everything clicked horribly.

It was a gun, and some protective ear padding.

"Oh. Oh, this is even _worse_ than touching turbocharged plasma," he commented after a slight stammer, calling out to him from across the test range. The ceiling was coming down slowly to close off the isolated space with a whirring of machinery, to encase the CEO in bulletproof glass with on side open to Bruce. Despite that, he couldn't help but feel very trapped himself. "Tony, no. Absolutely not."

"Relax. Why shouldn't you blow off a little steam?" Stark called back overconfidently, clapping his hands together. The shield gave a low hum but didn't falter. "Everyone, ear gear on and back up, safety first. Take a few more feet. C'mon, I know your vision plan's legit."

"No—not 'ear gear on'," Bruce turned and said, but they were already pulling on earplugs as though they'd had them at the ready. Richie lifted Bruce's pair to him, but he only grabbed them and put them back on the table before muttering to Tony in a low voice that couldn't be heard through their padding, through the glass. He could barely hear himself, over the rising tempo in his blood. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you it works."

"I believe you."

"Then there's no reason why you can't take a shot, right? I mean, why not. If you believe it works."

He felt the sides of his face begin to burn with the weight of all the eyes watching them, all the unwitting people who had no idea. He felt his apprehension begin to turn over into resentment at the man in front of him as he turned and picked up the gun, his eyes carefully going over it. It had a full clip in it. He could already feel the creases of his palm moisten around the sleek, yet grooved handle.

His lips curved into their hollow smile as he shook his head—it was his only mask, his only shield in this body.

"I'm not going to kill you in front of your employees, Tony." He didn't put it down, though.

"That's right, you're not." He was backing up a little, still talking out of earshot of the half dozen bystanders. "A little trivia for you, Banner—a few years back, a man I knew and, _trusted_, my entire life plucked the reactor core right out of my chest and walked away. He just walked away and left me there to die. For no other reason than he wanted what I had. And now this—" He rapped the palm of his free hand against his chest, the bright blue circle. "I have to trust _it_ now. I trust that it's going to keep my heart safe from those pieces of metal swimming around in my flesh. This goes for everything else. Everything I make, everyone I meet. If I can't trust it with my life, at this point, why the hell would I want it anywhere near me? Why would I stand behind it or put someone else behind it? That's why _you_ can fire."

The low tremor in his voice sent an unwanted chill up Bruce's spine, the plain-as-day confession of a very dark corner of Tony that Bruce hadn't realized existed. The doctor could feel Tony feeding off of his subtle reaction, his confusion, his realization of what this was actually about.

Which was that Tony was deadly serious when it came to trust—and he trusted Bruce.

Most of all, he wanted to be trusted back.

But it was clear this hadn't been planned. This was complete impulse. Even though Tony was putting on a show for everyone watching, even though he was playing things very cool from his facial expression to his stance.

"So you're confident about this." His mouth was suddenly really dry, and every vein ran warmer than he liked. If he waited, if he tried at it, if would bubble down, but the heat was only rising.

"I'm completely safe," Tony said without hesitation.

Bruce raised the gun and aimed, but didn't fire. His hands squeezed, but not enough. Down the barrel, all he could see was Tony's face, his eyes staring inky and black back at him_. Vulnerable, crushable._ He could see the fading bruises under the sweat damp makeup in the stark white light of the lab and remembered why they were there and his resolve began to crumble.

He saw Tony watching him, and he should have been ready. But he wasn't.

"Quick question," Tony called over loudly, business-like. "Is this the first time you've handled a firearm since—"

The firearm went off and it was far too loud in his ears. And then the sounds just all muddled together and the light blurred around his eyes, and all the heat tried to flood out of his hands and spilled over onto the gun he was no longer actually aiming. For a moment he thought he was Hulking out, he thought he was losing it, and he was definitely very close, but it just remained heat, horrible heat and noise and all he saw was green and pain.

And it only cooled over the moment the gun began to click uselessly in the ringing silence.

His elbows began to protest in pain, so he lowered them. He sucked in a deep breath. People were clapping behind him. Tony stood there with his shield arm braced out before him, unharmed, staring back at him wide eyed through the translucent plasma—but he hadn't moved. The engineer pressed a button on his wrist and a shower of metal pieces hit the floor and rolled around after being released from the force shield when it deactivated.

"My gosh," Tony commented, striding up to him as everyone began to take off their ear padding. The glass walls were lifting back up into the ceiling. "What unexpected enthusiasm. Wasn't that amazing?"

"Huh. How do you feel?" Bruce asked, just to make sure his voice was still working.

"A little bit like Captain America," he admitted lightly, taking the gun from Bruce without a word about it, setting it back on the table for Richie to clean and restore. Just like that, the gun was gone. It still made his palms hum and his ears pound.

"Told you."

"How about you?" He heard the shield prototype clunk on the table too. The words came out clipped, odd.

Bruce didn't answer. His lips felt numb and his gut began to shake with the gravity of all the subtle things, but strangely, his pulse was no longer rampant—he just felt a little breathless. Tony clapped him on the back, herding him back toward the elevator landing perhaps a little too quickly.

"C'mon. Let's get something to eat, yeah? You want something to eat."

He didn't even hear the workers bidding them a good day as they stepped onto the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, though, Bruce turned to him, livid. He began to thrust his pointer finger against the man's chest, but his fist crumpled against the black shirt harmlessly when Tony's eyes locked onto his, dark and deep and apologetic.

He wasn't sure how, but he ended up wrapped in the engineer's lean arms, gripped close.

"Breathe."

It was uncomfortable and awkward, as though they didn't quite fit, as though he were expecting the physicist to immediately fight the hold, but all Bruce could do was stand there, his vision halved by Tony's shoulder. Not exactly obeying, but knowing it was necessary, he took in mouthfuls of air and began the process of trying to decompress, sterile elevator air and breaths of fresh aftershave and stale scotch and spice. The hum of the arc reactor coursed through the both of them, they were that tightly pressed together where Tony's arms pinned them.

"The hell was that for? Whatever the hell happened to no surprises?" he heard himself sputtering out, angry, weak. But the emotion was bleeding from him quickly, as though Tony's arms were squeezing it out of him.

"I know, I'm sorry," Tony was saying, voice tight. "That was mean. I didn't mean to say it that way. That was too far. I'm sorry. That was all me. I didn't think that….I didn't think. I'm an idiot. Okay?"

Bruce caught a glimpse of himself then in the polished metal of the elevator wall.

One poison green eye glared back at him, but the warped reflection was already fading.


	24. Tell Me About It

A/N: Firstly, I just want to thank all of my wonderful readers for being so patient and supportive through the mess I was going through. If you have followed me on Tumblr, you probably know I had a bit of personal life trouble during the tail end of the summer that made it hard for me to keep up with the fic and a lot of things in general. But I'm back in school and back in action, and hope to make an update at least once weekly from this point forward. I still have a lot of things planned and ten to stick it through to the end. Please R/R as always, you guys really keep me going. ::hearts::

* * *

His conference call took a while; even though he had tried every trick he knew to keep it short and to the point, his clients had seemed to sense that and stalled for as long as possible. It was hard to keep a line on Tony Stark, after all, and even harder still in the past year when all he'd done was essentially go on tour.

Tony hadn't let go until Bruce's breathing calmed. Not that it would have mattered. If Bruce'd gone green, it would have been the equivalent of holding a nuclear grenade to his chest. In retrospect though, it had bordered on needless.

Because Bruce didn't even try to break free. As they had ascended the metal shaft, the brown curls and his forehead had angled forward and the man took long, even breaths that warmed the breast of Tony's t-shirt. And didn't that make him feel like shit—that even then, the bastard was more concerned with keeping himself in line than decking Stark in the face—which would have been incredibly appropriate.

"Just forget about it, alright?" he'd said quietly after they arrived on the penthouse floor, cutting off Stark's attempt to discuss it and deliver another apology. "I really don't want to talk about it. Let's just forget it."

"Bruce—" Tony had begun, and Bruce turned on him.

"Look, just…" the physicist stopped himself. The knuckles of his fingers all just flexed without curling as he held them out in a protective gesture. "Take your prize, alright? You got under my skin. Great job. That's what you wanted."

It wasn't an accusation. Bruce was just spelling it out for him, and it sucked the air right out of Tony's lungs. But before he could retort, Jarvis announced an office call, the call Pepper had tried to tell him about this morning when he'd taken his whole schedule upon himself. Jesus, why did he ever think that had been a good idea? He groaned silently, but in truth he wanted to take it so badly if it would just get him out of this mess long enough to think.

And it must have been apparent, because Bruce only looked at him in a way that said _well, go on_, and waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't—just stay," he blurted, and disappeared into the office for the next three hours.

* * *

By the time he finally emerged from his office, he expected for Bruce to have disappeared back down to his floor, or possibly even left altogether, and had been about to consult Jarvis when he saw him still there after all. Sitting back in the chair, the man was gazing out the framed windows at the fully repaired landing strip and the city beyond bathed in afternoon glow, palming a porcelain cup.

"Oh good," he entered as suddenly as he'd left, "You made yourself at home. That's good. Coffee?"

Bruce gave the lightest tilt of his head forward in confirmation, and the way he then lolled to the side was a silent sign that there as more. Dark eyes fell to the rim of the cup, thumb pads pressing there absently with no purpose, but Tony was already at the counter, fixing himself a cup with hands that preferred to keep busy and practical. He was thankful for the way Bruce didn't pay him mind for the moment as he opened up the cabinet and pulled an amber bottle from the back, tipping some of its like-colored contents into the mug.

"This is exactly what I need after that snoozer of a call. Sorry it took so long." Silence punctuated the sentence. The engineer cleared his throat. "Um. So anyway, I was thinking. I do that sometimes. Think ahead, I mean, before I _go_ ahead and—"

"It was." Bruce interjected softly. Like he didn't want to be heard.

It felt like someone had just taken the tips of their fingers and skittered them feather light up the back of his neck. He waited a moment just to be sure he'd heard him right. He knew exactly what was, but it didn't stop the man, who always demanded clarity from everything and didn't always give it, to ask him the needless question. "What was?"

"You asked if that was the first time I've held a gun, since I tried to kill myself. It was."

Tony suddenly felt glued by his hands to the counter. Not because he was holding on particularly tightly; he was barely resting them there. But it was suddenly really hard to turn around, and face that. Wasn't that what he wanted, though? To ask questions, get answers? He disconnected from the counter's gravity, pulling his cup with him into space and drifting towards the physicist.

"Yeah?" He pulled out a chair and swung it around backwards, straddling it right in front of Bruce so his gaze couldn't escape out the window. "Tell me about it."

Bruce looked a little confused. "About the gun, or…?" The engineer shrugged, being vague on purpose, and it only seemed to irk the other man for only a moment as he put his thoughts together before he spoke carefully.

"It felt heavy. The one I used was a lot less heavy. I think." He shifted in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I traveled up north to do it. Where I knew the temperatures would drop below freezing, where no one would be around. Where no one would look for a body. I figured if I slowed down my whole body, if my heart rate couldn't, then…" He shook his head absently. "Didn't work out that way."

"Ever try again after that?" he found himself asking. He was met with a snort, that hollow smile as Bruce shook his head.

"What would've been the point of that?"

"Fair." Tony sought his eyes, and locked onto them. His arms crossed over the chair, coffee set aside. "Would you ever try again?"

"There's no point," he repeated matter-of-factly, glancing away. Tony didn't let him go far.

"That's not what I asked."

"There's no point."

"And if there was?"

"If it actually would work?" he said in a tone that silenced the space between them. Because that hadn't been the end of his sentence, and the answer was stapled in his eyes and hanging on his tongue; Tony could see them there as plain as day and it nearly broke his cool—

_In a heartbeat_.

For some reason though, Bruce didn't say them. Like he didn't have the heart to. Even after the way he had heartlessly admitted to the attempt in a room full of strangers. Though, none of them had ever watched Bruce as intensely as Tony was at this moment.

"Really, after everything that's happened? He's on your side, big guy. He's on our side, he's part of you, like this is—"

"No," Bruce interrupted, shaking his head. "_Not_ like your arc reactor being a part of you. Tony." He dipped his head and thought before he spoke. "You put that there. It's keeping you alive, but it's because you put it there. It's foreign at its _core_." He gestured two fingers at the circle of light that was currently hidden by the back of the chair, casting a glow up against Tony's chin, the wet of his eyes.

He was suddenly aware of it again, when Bruce put attention to it-the heaviness of the metal where muscle and flesh should have been, the eternal hum of the vibranium inside the corepiece that thrummed to the very edges of his fingers so softly that he barely felt it anymore unless he was trying to. He wanted to argue and disagree, but instead he shifted up so it could be visible, as though he were a visual aid, helpful to the man trying to piece difficult thoughts together. But Bruce wasn't looking at him anymore. He was watching his own hands, curving around the porcelain lip of the cup.

"At some point on the helicarrier, Steve stopped to talk to me. I think he was trying to give me a…pep-talk." His brows jumped dubiously. "He said…Erskine told him the serum magnified whatever a person was. Good becomes great, bad becomes worse. Doesn't add anything on. Just makes it…more."

He saw his jaw clench.

"Those were two completely separate situations, Bruce."

"With the same premise. So if that's true," he said carefully, his voice falling to a hush. "What…the hell am I, really, what the hell has been hiding inside me all along that I became _this_?" He cleared his throat, turning the cup in his hands a little more erratically. "Maybe it's never safe to be around me. Maybe it's never _been_ safe to be around me. And when I think of that, I don't see the point of being around."

"When you think of it," Tony echoed quietly. Carefully. He wasn't sure when he'd become such a good listener. But this was such a rare occurrence. He didn't want to screw it up, not for anything. "So it's not all you think about. There's something else, right?"

Bruce glanced up for just a moment, pressed his lips together hard, brown eyes wet. He nodded once—just once, blinking rapidly—his hands stopped fiddling, but he didn't speak.

He didn't have to.

"Yeah. Me too," the engineer admitted. There was always something else. Sometimes there were multiple something elses. As the physicist ducked his head and thumbed briefly at the duct of his eye, his friend leaned over and grabbed his own cup. "Here—I'll trade you."

"No, I've got some left."

"This has brandy in it," Tony persisted without batting an eyelash.

"So does mine." Bruce looked up at him, and his face relaxed into a sheepish half smile. "Sorry."

He blinked in response, and just sat back, rolling his shoulders. Bruce Banner, drinking spiked coffee. He hadn't been expecting _that_.

"My gosh."


	25. Whatever that Implies

A/N: You guys are just so awesome. Took a little longer than I expected, but it was fun to write. :) I hope you enjoy! Please R/R. 3

* * *

"Do you ever look at them?"

His voice was soft again. It had been days since he'd last spoken, and the son of Odin had not pursued him further for words. But the trickster's throat sounded as a long unused instrument.

Today, he could not bear to speak or even look at his brother until then, but had decided to eat with him. Then the words came out, so soft and edged with the emptiness that had been growing on his voice. Thor had long convinced himself it was only his brother's fountained hatred for him, and not the slow and agonizing torture he faced each time the prison closed and sealed him.

"At what?"

"The stars." His pale eyes flickered, glancing up, though he would see no stars even past the ceiling of this place. "I imagine you do. I imagine you find them wonderful."

Thor watched him carefully. "I do. Though…I cannot say I have paid them mind, of late."

"Perhaps that's best," Loki uttered softly, after some time. His eyes roamed toward the ceiling again, and his brother followed that gaze. "Countless suns of countless worlds across the universe…so marvelous, but—we forget that sometimes we see only the marvel. We forget that many of them have been gone for such a long time and all we see is what we wish to see."

When Thor looked upon him again, Loki was watching him instead, rain colored eyes peering in a silent desperation, another round of putting him at unrest. His great shoulders stiffened, and his face forced to harden. The words that slipped out were contemptuous at best.

Perhaps he had finally learned to hate him.

"Why do you always speak in riddles, even now? Why can you not just speak your_ heart_?"

Something stirred. The dark-haired trickster licked his lips, and pressed them tight together so they were pale and trembling. "I'm afraid to do so." He said slowly—in a way that made the hair on Thor's arms prickle all the way up to the back of his neck.

"What have you to fear?"

"Of what might happen." A smile broke out upon his lips, teeth glinting in the pale light. "Of all the things that will happen if I speak about myself._ Myself_…"

Thor's retort died in his throat in place of blooming confusion. The words Loki spoke dragged of finality, in a way they never had before, when they once slipped from his tongue like silver drops.

And they remained with him even as he left that awful place to seek the ear of his mother. She had to listen, to speak to the Allfather. Thor had to be allowed to stop this.

Loki was slowly being driven insane.

* * *

"I should probably drag myself downstairs. If Miss Potts comes home and sees us like this, I can't imagine she'll be too happy."

Tony exhaled loudly through his nose, leaning back into the couch they had ended up on, sitting side by side watching the sun go down on the city. It wasn't on purpose. The past few hours had drifted away in small talk that turned to discussion. Bruce got up at one point to put his glass on the counter, and the subtle dance began; he made a few steps toward the elevator, Tony found a new way to distract him, whether it be picking his brain about particle accelerators or talking about high school sports. The engineer would take a few steps to let him go, and Bruce would find something else he wanted to say. Eventually it just made sense to refill their glasses with all the talking they were doing, with more brandy than coffee this time; they tired of standing and pacing, so they sat. Though Bruce was only finishing nursing his first after the coffee cup; Tony was on his fourth belt, ice already drained clear.

"With the week we've had, she'd probably just join in. Besides, if she doesn't like it, she's got her own place to sleep. Relax."

Doe brown eyes shifted to seek out syrup dark ones. It took Bruce only a moment longer to realize Pepper hadn't come up in conversation yet. "Oh. I thought you two…?"

Tony came to that realization a little late, as well. Turning the condensation-speckled glass in his hand, he shook his head. "Nah."

"Not even…?" He asked half of it, but Tony repeated himself. "Oh." With that in mind, he looked out onto the darkening city, thoughtful. Small bits and pieces of that night with Pepper in the hotel room—it was a hotel room, right?—flickered into the forefront of his mind. He hadn't really seen her since that time, just remembered her hair and the way her hands felt, covered in soap.

_I used to be his Betty._

"What happened?" He asked anyway, after a moment. The gaiety between them didn't end, but it toned down, the way crickets settle when they're not sure of their safety. And there didn't seem to be anything to be worried about; Tony's mouth dragged down in indifference, he rolled his shoulders in a shrug. And he didn't seem incredibly worked up about it, not really.

"She couldn't handle the hardware," he answered.

"Oh. Well…" Bruce shrugged as well. "Didn't sound like the type to dwell over that kind of stuff."

Tony looked at him, half serious. "What do you mean?"

Bruce returned the look. Those crickets went dead silent. "What do you mean…'what do you mean'?"

"The type to dwell over what?"

"Hardware?"

"Which is…?"

"What."

"What do you think I mean when I said hardware, Bruce?"

"Uhh…"

"It's my arc reactor."

"Right. That's what I meant."

"It's not the size of my dick."

Bruce stared at him for several long moments. He attempted to put together a response, and just bent over, burst out into laughter. He leaned toward the arm of the couch, grinning face in palm.

Tony, you narcissistic son of a bitch—"

"I'm just saying," he blathered on, turning in the seat with drink in one hand. "I'm just saying, Bruce, that I would rather not be disinterpreted." This sent Bruce gasping so hard he couldn't speak. "There is nothing wrong with that hardware, you'll be happy to know. So if, so if that happened to be one of your _deductions_—"

"It wasn't."

"—It was a very broad term, I'll give you that. It could mean anything. I'm just saying. It could mean…my computers. Jarvis." He began counting on his fingers, with the ones not clutching his glass.

"Dear Christ." This was almost too much to bear. He couldn't even look at the engineer. For one, his face was beet red. And second, he would just lose it again if he looked at him.

"It could mean arc reactor, or my suits, or…or the size of my junk. I realize that now." He tried his damndest to sound serious.

"Good to know you're growing from this, Tony." A snicker escaped his lips.

"Dirty mind, Dr. Banner."

"Whatever." He caught his breath. "So, the arc?"

"Well, it was a lot of reasons…" he reflected, waving his hand dismissively as he got up and swiveled around the couch, snatching Bruce's empty glass from his hand. The physicist glanced back to see him going to the counter, but only for a moment. "But—yeah. She couldn't sleep, with it shining in her eyes. Even when I covered it up. And when you're not sleeping, you're thinking about things and you learn about yourself. Sometimes it happens like that." He gave another bit of a shrug. "And there was the whole reaching into my chest and poking around thing that I think put her off, too. It's understandable."

"So that…didn't upset you?" he asked as the playboy came back around the couch, handing him a fresh glass with mostly ice and a little brandy.

"Well—that's the thing. The thinking, the not sleeping, it goes both ways. Went both ways. No, the first one." He swung back down onto the seat with more gravity than grace, even though his body spoke of grace; the action was lost in translation. As he paused to toast him, and he obliged the billionaire, it occurred to Bruce just how much he'd imbibed. He felt at ease, tipsy at best; it had been a while since he touched alcohol, but he'd had his over the course of a while. "And I'd been thinking. When I saved New York? I called her on the HUD, and she didn't pick up."

Almost instantly he sensed Bruce's concerned look, and waved his hand. "Oh no, I know. That's not even it. She was watching me on the TV. Of course she wasn't looking at her phone. Never fault her for that." He cleared his throat. "I didn't have a lot of time to think about it then, but after, I um, I realized she's…great. She's my go-to, and wonderful, and someone I never have to doubt about trusting."

"And?"

He pressed his lips together, itched beneath his nose. "And even though I called her, because I always do, she wasn't who I was worried about when everything went black. She's not the one who I was thinking about."

And then it happened again. That moment when Bruce could feel the low heat of his eyes against the side of his face, and their eyes met because he knew when he was being stared at. He meant to only glance to acknowledge the words, but he was held fast suddenly by Tony's expression, completely neutral from the alcohol, his dark, dark eyes dewy in the fading light, his hair almost black; wicked, and a five o' clock shadow at almost nine at night. The drunk man was trying to read him, he knew it, and he wondered if he'd gotten through. Bruce was suddenly only too aware of the smell of his clothes and the not-quite-yet staleness of the drink on his breath, and the fact that the cushion was warm because Tony was sitting next to him and their heat was seeping into the fabric and mingling indiscriminately.

Then he realized Tony was looking right at him. Not quite directing the words—but trying to be meaningful. And it was like being hit by a car, and it was like bringing air into a stuffy room. The doctor in his senses alerted him of all the warnings—the dilation in his own pupils and the quickening of his pulse, and the faint memory of how this shirt had smelled and felt when he put it on this morning, and how it must smell now that he'd been wearing it all day, and how close he was and—

Tony shifted slowly to sit sideways again and god, how he wanted that, how he wanted that so badly. That look and everything it implied. Anything it implied. Comfort and safety and affection and touch and—no.

Bruce seemed to jerk awake, setting both feet on the floor and bringing his hand to the back of his head, scratching.

He was dimly aware of how Tony's hand was now resting where his had been.

"Well, that's good," Bruce managed to get out. "Those kind of realizations are good for you." He stood up carefully.

He could feel the energy drain from the man, who didn't move. "And Betty?"

"I don't have to be worried about Betty. I haven't for a while. It's different…look, I'm feeling a little drunk. I'm going to get to bed." He cast him a not-smile, and started making for the elevator. Tony didn't get up. He imagined he would probably fall over if he did a second time. "I'm kinda tired of feeling drugged up lately, come to think of it—kind of a bad idea."

"Um, how about you just stay up here? Plenty of room. You know?"

"I know." He drained his glass—because he never liked to waste anything, and Tony could count on it—and set it on the counter, making for the elevator. "Night, Tony."

"Night," he called back dimly out of reflex, just as the elevator doors closed on the man's back. When he heard the machinery whirring, he sagged against the less comfortable frame of the sofa and sighed, a whiny growl coming from his throat.

God _fucking_ damnit.


	26. Blur

A/N: This one just kinda poured out of me, and left me a bit tearful. Hope it makes up for the long waits between updates! xD Enjoy, and please R/R! You all really keep me going. *hearts*

* * *

"Jarvis."

'_Yes, sir.'_

"Bring up the feed on Dr. Banner."

The screen lowered from the main projection frame and glowed into existence, showing a hologram of a bird's eye view of Bruce's apartment. No, he didn't exactly feel proud about the fact that he had a surveillance unit in the floor he'd built for the physicist, and it wasn't like he planned to abuse it, but it was meant to be useful, another way for him to protect Bruce. He didn't care what was thought of it.

It was dark and lonely looking; but there he was. It looked like he'd managed to get his shoes off, at least, before lying back unevenly on the bed. He wasn't just resting—he was lying very still, and if Tony stared long enough, he saw the fabric of his shirt rising and falling with even breaths. His head lay just out of the lens frame, and it would have been too dark to see anyway.

Tony just sat there and watched for a while. His jaw worked and his back teeth ground silently, thirsty for another drink—hungry for something to eat—anything that would keep him here a little longer.

"How much time do I have?"

'_Approximately 17 minutes.'_

He nodded scarcely and stared at his lap. The ice in his glass had turned almost all to water, wet and clammy in his palm. His other hand flexed slowly, the way he did to prime the core transistors when he donned his suit. The truth was that so many thoughts were running through his head right then that he wasn't thinking of anything; it was all just a slow, sensual whine of emotion and doubt. His temples felt heavy against the sides of his skull, and he just wanted to sleep all of this off, wake up a week from now while some other Tony Stark took care of all of this.

He already felt sick with the amount of bullshit this was.

The glass clicked audibly on the table when he set it down, dragged his hands over his face and leaned over, scraping nails through his hair. He felt like he hadn't showered in days. He felt dirty.

Of course he did.

And that feeling only intensified when he entered the still air of the elevator shaft, and then out into the darkness of Bruce's apartment. The tinny breaths on the television screen were now larger than life; wired for sound, he could hear it from the door. Usually he strutted without a care for who heard, but right now, he steered his drunken body into the bedroom with the most grace he could muster.

For a moment he stood there, watching the doctor sleep peacefully, and remembered that he could just turn around and walk out and this would never happen; he would never have to lose sleep over it, never have to drink it from his skull.

There would be hell to pay, but then again, hell was a difficult concept to Tony; hell was everywhere because apparently so were gods, and it was in revenge-bent generals and basins of cold water meant to drown people and the eyes of Obadiah Stane and in the thought of a world where Bruce had to keep running and hiding and eating from the garbage and never be loved.

_Why would I need him, then? He'll be all yours._

He pushed himself from the threshold of the door softly and padded over the soft carpet, leaving its crutch to slip a hand into his back pocket, taking out a rolled up wad of latex before he knelt down on the bed. Bruce didn't even stir; he still looked like he was concentrating on taking off his socks, brow partially knit and jaw slack.

He put on the gloves with some difficulty, and brushed up Bruce's sleeve. His arm was slack, heavy, warm. So warm. The man seemed to feel like he was burning off solar waves every time he touched him—which was accurate from the fever, and ironic from the fact that he was an essence of radiation.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," he whispered. He tied his arm above the elbow, just a little too tight, but the man still didn't wake up. "I'm so sorry. This is fucked up. I'm not going to lie. But it's for your own good." He wished he would wake up. Stop him from this.

He unscrewed the cap of the syringe. The needle gleamed accusingly at him. He held it towards the exposing vein, those rivers of poison blood that Ross would otherwise mine dry. Everything was blue, so blue in the dark, the core of his chest flooding over Bruce and making him look surreal.

And he screamed inside, to wake up the Merchant of Death, that man who wouldn't care.

'_Sir.'_

He stopped. A breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding shook from him. "Now is not a good time."

'_Sir, I must advise against this. Your vital information is unstable and visual readings suggest bodily tremor that is detrimental to this procedure. You may likely cause yourself or Dr. Banner undue injury.'_

"You know, he's right," Bruce's voice floated over the ice-lit dark softly.

* * *

Tony's chest wrung tight and he wasn't sure if it was blinking or his heart stopping that made the room pulse dark for half a second, but his eye traveled up the resting body and locked on Banner's. He was fully awake, well before he should have been, and it was because Tony underestimated his metabolism.

"Bruce—" he peeled himself off the bed, stumbled back. Bruce sat up slowly, but didn't rise to the bed. "Alright, this looks bad. It looks really bad. But I can explain."

"I'm sure you can," he said, his tone hard to read. "What did you put in my drink, Stark?"

"Just a run of the mill sedative. You're fine, you're—um, you were supposed to be out for twenty minutes, tops. It hasn't even—not even ten minutes, Christ…"

"Oh, good. Luckily for me this wasn't really thought through very well." In the dark, in the glow of Tony's core, the physicist's eyes glimmered with malice, _it had to be the purest hate, wasn't it, it was_—

"Bruce." He exhaled, and stammered in another breath that died in his lungs. The room began to feel very small. This was it. Fuck. Fuck _fuck fuck_. What made him think he could do this? What made him think he could pull this off without getting blood on his hands either way? "I—I'm just trying to help. You gotta understand, I—"

"Give me the needle," Bruce said calmly.

"I'm not going to—"

"I know. I know you're not. Tony, just give me the needle—"

"—just trying to keep you—" His vision felt cracked like a mirror, trying to rest his attention on a million different places at once, nowhere safe—

"_Give me the __**fucking **__needle!"_

Bruce's voice thundered through the room, sudden and loud like a train. It stunned Tony into silence and then back into sense, and by the time he'd returned, Bruce was watching him calmly again. Tony thrust the thing toward him, and the physicist reached out and took it.

"Jarvis, can you turn up the lights?" he asked. Warm light slowly flooded the room. He fingered the plastic shaft in his hands for a moment, and then looked down at his prepped arm. He turned it to rest on his knee, relaxed, veins exposed.

"Your hands are too unsteady," he said gently, positioning the syringe in his hand. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

Tony felt the alcohol in his system want to come right back up his throat as he watched in horror Bruce puncturing himself without a single blink, without another word.

_Bruce, stop. Oh God stop, what are you doing?_

The barrel grew pregnant with dark red blood and in moments it was done, Bruce found the cap laying there on the bed and topped it, pulled the rubber band from his arm and pulled down his sleeve. Then he held it out for Tony to take. The so-called Iron Man stood there like stone.

"This is what you wanted, right?" Bruce urged softly. "Here. Take it."

"I can't."

"Why not? You were going to?" His brows lifted in that silently furious way. "When you thought I was out cold, right?"

"No. I—I'm sorry. Bruce, I'm sorry. I was wrong and…I don't know what will make this better. This has pretty much gone to shit for me, so—I give up. I'm sorry."

And it was like that for a long time. Tony turned to the side, hands on his hips, swaying slightly. He was so drunk in his body, but his mind was cold sober now, and it was a horrible disconnect to have. Because his heart was shattered to pieces, and he couldn't feel it. He dipped his head and stared at his shoes, trying to find something else to say.

"Alright." Bruce spoke again. "I'm going to make a deal with you. Okay?" He inhaled deeply. "You've got two choices right now. One is, I'll give this to you. It's yours, and you can have it and walk out of here with no questions asked. But I'll be walking out too. And you'll have to deal with whatever happens on your own. Whatever the consequences are…whatever the hell you're trying to do that's so important that you would do something like this to get it, I don't want to hear about it."

Tony turned completely away. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The air stung his eyes.

"Or I'll give this to you, and you can sit down and tell me what's going on, why I've smelled nothing but fear on you. If you really want to do this—this thing where I trust you, and let you catch me, you have to tell me." He then whispered, "Tell me so that I can help you."

The billionaire shifted back around, his thumbs hooked into his hips as he paced toward him, head down. He looked up, tried to speak, and failed. The words died in his throat. He came right up in front of him, and knelt down, as though standing over the physicist was just too much. But this brought him to eye level, and that was what did it.

Because the malice and the anger and the fury was all imagined. Bruce didn't look anything but worried. For him.

And then he didn't look like anything at all but a watery blur.

Bruce gently clashed with him, bringing him into a safe, comfortable hold. Between them, the light was all but snuffed out. Tony shook, but didn't sob; he couldn't bear to, couldn't stand to be that weak after doing something equally so stupid. But Bruce lifted him up, sat him beside him, pulled his head close against his shoulder. Tony couldn't move. Didn't want to. His eyes squeezed shut.

_So much stronger than you look._

"Hey. Hey, shh. Come on. You're pretty drunk right now." Banner's voice equated everything, put it all in clarity. "Made it easier to do this, right? Well, just calm down and…and tell me what's happening then, all of it. Tony. Please."

Breaking down like the incapable machine he was, he leaned against Bruce and felt the solar waves radiating from him, warm and clean. He told him everything.


	27. No Surprises

A/N: This is going to get repetitive, but I feel like I just can't post a chapter without thanking all of you for being such awesome readers. *hearts* I hope you like this chapter! Please R/R!

* * *

"So he agreed to make a formal statement clearing your name," Bruce summarized, turning the vial of blood in his palm. "And in return, you get him this."

"Yeah," Tony replied, in a calmer, clipped voice.

Tony hadn't moved himself since they'd begun, but Bruce had after a while taken his arm from him to sit on the edge of the bed and study the wall blankly, and then he stood and paced slowly across the floor. Whatever kind of sedative Tony had slipped him had been burned up in his system as quickly as alcohol neutralizes in heat, left him wide awake. At first, he had only heard perhaps every other word of what the other man said, practicing in fanning his hand out at his side and curling it back up into the tightest fist he could manage. And the anger bled out that way.

He was angry. So angry. How could anyone be anything but when you woke up and found someone kneeling over you, trying to steal blood? His heart still pounded, and the swarming bees licked at his ears and droned out Tony's rambling, taking from it only the truth—not only in the words he said, but how he sat, how he spoke. The man seemed like the entire world had collapsed around him, and he wasn't the cocksure engineer Bruce was used to. He was a victim in this as well, and it was the only reason Bruce wasn't gone by now. It was the only reason he hadn't walked out the moment he was able to stand.

Because on the rivers of fury came currents of pain. He couldn't believe Tony had stooped this low, even though he had all the reasons to. He couldn't believe he…he couldn't—Bruce tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, tracing his hand protectively over his own wrist. A dark little stain had dried into the borrowed shirt. He'd have to bleach it out. He took in another slow, deep breath and he took the vial between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, turning it over and over. Two beasts fought inside him—reason and betrayal. He desperately clung to the former to ignore the latter.

"I had his word that he'd call this whole smear off, _and_ never bother you again," Tony repeated himself, signaling Bruce hadn't spoken in a while. He hadn't ever actually cried. His eyes had run, but then just became puffy, his face swollen with self-control and a slow creeping hangover, fully sobered. "It seemed like a good deal. At the time."

"Yeah. At the time," Bruce muttered. "You have any idea what you could have done? What he would have been able to do?"

"Yeah, nothing." Tony defended. "Ross isn't smart enough. Even if he has a gallon of Banner juice, he's not going to be able to figure it out—"

"That won't stop him from trying," Bruce growled, turning to him. His one hand tucked to the side. The cool of the vial squeezed in his fist. "You really think this is a game? It's not. He'll try anyway, and even if he fails a hundred times trying to make another me, that's a hundred men who have to suffer. Who'll have to go through what I went through. You think people hate you now, Stark?" He pointed out the window. "Wait until an _army_ of Emil Blonksys comes marching down 34th, with Stark Industries stamped on their _ass_. Oh, you'll be really popular then, my friend."

"What do you want me to do, Bruce?" he snapped. "Don't you think I know that?"

That's when Bruce backed off; his hand fanned out against his khakis, before he pushed any further. Tony was already beaten enough. He turned away, sighing. "It doesn't make any sense. It's me he wants. He wants me dead, and…preferably in a test cage. Why would he…?" He shook his head. It was a futile thing to try and decipher right now.

"So what's the next step?" Tony said, not looking at him anymore.

"I don't know." Bruce stopped at the window, looking out. "We don't have all the variables." That last bit came out in a mutter. "Where's SHIELD in all this?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen or heard from them."

"I thought you were thinking about opening up floors for a new headquarters for them."

"I was. But then you left. Rogers was out. Romanoff and Barton went their ways. Thor went home, never heard from him again as far as I know. The headquarters are there. I built them, it's all ready. But they're unmanned. I haven't heard from Fury, or been able to contact him, since he promised they were turning every rock in the world over looking for you." He bent his head. "The only one who ever came here anyway was Tash and Coulson, and he's gone now."

"Who?"

Tony looked at him sharply, with fire that made him curious, but then seemed to remember something. "Phil. He was one of SHIELD's agents. Loki got him. He was, uh…the kinda short one that…that wasn't impressed with any of our bullshit."

"Oh. Yeah…I think I remember." Bruce's brow crunched, remembering the agent vaguely. He remembered shaking his hand getting onto the helicarrier. After a moment, he stalked over to the dresser and set the vial down.

"You're going to end up in a cell if I don't do something," he thought aloud.

"Wait, what? Hold on. No. What the hell happened to helping me?"

"You have no idea what you got yourself into."

"The hell I don't."

Bruce's jaw clenched a bit, the whole scenario playing out in true form all over again in his mind. _Taken care of._ Was this what he'd meant by that? He knew there'd been something off. The frustration and the recklessness.

"The hell you do." His voice was like steam. "Look, your file was there too, Stark. It's okay. I know."

"Don't," Tony warned, but there was no stopping the physicist as he began pacing back toward him.

"No, you're the one that's going to listen now," Bruce pressed. He didn't meet any more resistance. "I can't even imagine what that was like. I can't even start trying to. But I can try to imagine what you must think of yourself now, what you think that others must think of you." He began speaking more carefully, coming closer slowly. "Every day, thinking you have to…fix it, fix what you did, before it destroys everything, but you're smart so it came out perfect; it's its own breathing machine—a monster. And there's nothing you can do but wait for the next fight, is there, the next chance to put it down?"

That made Tony look up. For a moment they just stared at each other, and Bruce swallowed with an audible click.

It hurt him to see Stark like this. He'd rather have the sarcastic, sharp tongued Iron Man here right now, negating and nullifying everything that came out of his mouth, putting the world in its place with his brilliance. Pulling out the ace which he had all along, and saving the day, just like he did when tricking Loki, when he assured Bruce that at least in that moment, he had the Hulk for a reason.

Instead, Tony just looked at him like he was all out of cards. Out of ideas. Almost out of hope. And it unsettled him.

He'd unwittingly crossed over a line, and he knew it. But it was too late to go back.

"But if that's what _this_ is—if trying to help me is you picking one of those fights, then—"

His pulse flared when Tony reached out and grasped his hand, squeezed his palm and didn't let go.

"It's not like that."

Syrup dark eyes caught onto his, moist and weary and suddenly full with words Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to hear. As it was, he'd gotten too close and now he couldn't move away. Even though it was Tony who was actually cornered, he felt trapped.

Bruce tensed his arm, but couldn't get loose. His gaze fell away from Tony's face, and settled on the vibranium core in his chest. Shining soft, even in the well lit room it caught his attention. The way it glowed, always maintaining itself, like a human heart, like a star. The way Tony wore his shirts, tailored them so that it shone through. Proudly. Like a medal—god, like a terrible privilege.

Tony hid a lot of things, from him, from SHIELD, the world, but never who he was; just because they didn't look, didn't mean it was hidden. Not like Bruce. That was why…

"I'm just not worth it, Tony," he whispered.

"You are."

"Think whatever you want. I'm not."

"Bruce."

That's when Tony stood, using Bruce's hand as leverage. He let him do it. He was taller than the physicist, a detail he always forgot until they were standing right beside or in front of each other. The soft light of the core spread between them again, making the pale mauve shirt Bruce was wearing a completely different color. He tried to avoid looking up at him, but being this close, looking down was just as bad. The alcohol on his breath had gone staler than before, but stirred by a rush in adrenaline, the same component responsible for the sheen of sweat still present on Tony's cheekbones, his forehead, and the flush on the inner rim of his mouth, just the most subtle flush before the dark.

And at some point during his distraction, the other's free hand reached out and cupped the side of his head, sinking into thick, unkempt curls of hair; his ear cradled in the crook of is pointer and thumb. It smoothed absently over his temple.

His pulse jumped, and that's when he realized Tony hadn't let go of his hand. His fingers were tapped into his pulse, his most private of things.

"C'mon, Bruce," Tony said in a low, low voice. Teasing. Taunting. Pleading. "Figure it out already."

"You promised there wouldn't be any surprises."

"This shouldn't be."

Bruce began to retort, but it was hard to do with Tony's mouth pressing where his argument should have been.

He didn't remember closing his eyes or the time it took for the taste of scotch on Tony's lips to melt away, like some sour candy coating, into a syrupy soft tang which wasn't really the billionaire's at all, but the both of them at once. What he was aware of, however, was the hand on his wrist that made the pulse there flop and jump; and the fingers that twitched, curling against his scalp and sending half-starved nerve endings into a cacophonic frenzy that shot him straight in the heart; sent endorphins straight out from that point like a poison. The slight irritation of the other's goatee that he now seemed to be wearing caused him to tilt his head. It only led Tony on, who pulled him close, releasing his hand just to grasp his head in both hands.

Bruce didn't fight. He couldn't. His mind went completely blank from the amount of emotion he felt being poured into him—like an electromagnetic pulse, everything superficial just evaporated from existence for a moment. Everything went dark and blank and quiet and it was beautiful.

Because there were at least a dozen things Bruce had settled with himself that he could never have again, and Tony had just set at least half of them on fire.

Air was shocking when it returned. "Um," he murmured, though it was just more of a residual noise. His eyes stayed closed, but he could feel Tony watching him, and he could imagine those dark eyes had only grown more dew and his mouth more flush because the smell of his skin was intense.

_Fuck. _

As all the lights slowly started coming back on, he felt thumbs smoothing over his temples. It was soothing, he wanted to melt, just melt into that. When he peered back into reality, the engineer was waiting for him.

"So, I've been waiting to do that for about a year," he began to explain under his breath, "So um, I don't know; I sorta _feel_ like I should get a gold star for it, but then that was really, really nice, so maybe…"

He was about to suggest something, but it was hard to do with Bruce's mouth there. He pressed deep, and tasted sweetly, and his hands came up this time, grasping at the elbows of Tony's shirt, twisting the fabric. The engineer let him in wholeheartedly, wasn't the least bit hesitant. Suddenly Bruce was acutely aware of the everlasting hum of the core thrumming through him, the whisper of coconut and metal wrapped in the DNA of his membranes where palladium used to be, sucking him dry. And god, was it good. And the thought that it could be his—that he could be worth it—worth him—consumed him entirely.

When he released him it was all at once and he finished Tony's sentence in a voice that didn't sound completely his. "We should go to bed."

"Huh?" Tony exhaled, his pupils blown.

"Bed. It's late. You need to get to bed." Bruce murmured, inches from his mouth. His face felt hot. In tai chi, when you rubbed your palms together, you could feel the heat and energy being stretched between them like taffy. That's how this was right now. He was being drawn back toward them. "Sleep it off. How long do we have before Ross gets suspicious?"

"Uh…a few days," Tony said after a moment, having to forcefully pluck the information from his brain.

"Good. I might have an idea. We're going to need the lab. First thing in the morning."

Tony didn't look satisfied. He looked confused. Clearly this wasn't the reaction he'd normally get. "Right, but maybe I should stay _here_ and uh…"

"I can't have you here right now."

"Banner," he said, frowning. The emotion flashed fast and evident on the prodigy's face, so much that Bruce immediately regretted the weight of his words. "I know there's a lot on your mind, but I kinda need some indication that that just happened."

"It did," he blurted, feeling a weight coming off of him. "It happened and that's why. I can't…"

"No, hey," Tony interjected after a moment. "It's fine. I get it. No, I really do." He reached through the paltry swarm of bees to grasp Bruce's shoulder. He squeezed, and Banner felt air being allowed back into his cells. "Sorry. Just…damn."

The physicist responded to him with a weak smile, and pressed his hand onto his. "Yeah." He contemplated the other for a moment. "Take the couch if you wanna stay on the floor. Get some sleep. I need to think."

Tony let himself be brushed off, pacing backward toward the door. "So you're not mad?" he pressed, a little bit of jest slipping back into his voice. "About the whole…"

"Oh, I'm furious," he said idly over his shoulder as he moved to the wardrobe, undoing the buttons of his shirt. "That's right. I'm furious. Get the hell out of my room."

He didn't sound furious. But Tony got the hell out anyway.

They had science to do tomorrow.


	28. The Course of Falsity

A/N: Sorry again for the wait. Midterms this week, yay! ^_^;; Lots of feels went into making this one. Thank you all for being so patient and lovely for each update. It really honors me to know people are enjoying this so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter too, and read and review! They really keep me going. *hearts*

* * *

"Mr. Stark, there's just one thing the people don't understand," the reporter intoned with an edge of impatience, holding up the microphone for her station.

"Oh, I'd argue that Miss Simpson," Stark replied plainly, leaning against the front of the podium with his arms crossed. At a time like this, they wanted to see him squirm. They wanted to see him hiding behind the monolith of wood, flipping through note cards. He wouldn't ever give that to them. "Just one thing? No. I don't think so, I don't buy that. But ask your question, please. I like watching your lips. Very nice shape, like sort of a classic—Casablanca thing you have going on there."

The camera didn't catch the rolling of her eyes. "You've been called a hero of the nation, Stark. You carried a rogue nuclear missile into space using the Iron Man suit during the Chitauri incident last year and spared the city from a nuclear holocaust. So just why did you attack General Thaddeus Ross of the U.S. Army? Does it have anything to do with your long-standing dissent with the Supreme Court?"

"The interesting thing is I have nothing against Thunderbolt," he answered smoothly. "Actually, he and I have been what you might call cordial acquaintances for quite a long time. I know as much as you do. I was in the middle of something in Paris, and he intervened. There was some friendly fire. His bullet grazed my suit; caused about fifteen thou worth of damage I might add—not even mad about it—" He gestured in lieu of words, "And I might have accidentally ushered him into a solid wall."

The oncoming wave of flashing bulbs and scrambled voices arrived as reliably as clockwork. Tony endured it without so much as a blink.

"Just what were you in the middle of, Mr. Stark?" someone asked.

"Local reports in the city say that you were seen chasing after someone on foot, and suited up in broad daylight."

Tony's lips barely twitched.

"SHIELD business," he replied coolly. "And thanks to the general, a completely fruitless operation. Maybe once he's had a chance to cool his head, and really look at the footage, he'll send me some flowers. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I left something on upstairs."

As expected, they crowded around him, spilled in around the edges of his vision, but the son of Howard Stark couldn't be intimidated by a large crowd of hungry dogs. He fed off their desperation, shone in their photo flashes, grinned at their dissatisfaction, all the way to the elevator shaft.

And once the doors shut, his cocksure disposition switched off like a light.

* * *

He pressed the button, and one by one all the screens displaying all of the channels broadcasting the short press conference blipped off, leaving nothing but a glassy, charcoal wall, his furious one eyed reflection all to be seen.

"Well, well," Fury declared aloud to himself. "Look at our consultant go." He reached up and put pressure on a smaller button that was attached to a budlike device on his ear.

"Agent Hill, I'd like to see you in my office. Just saw the _neatest_ thing on T.V."

* * *

"Jarvis, please turn that off. I really need to concentrate on this."

'Apologies, Dr. Banner. Mister Stark put direct input into my playback parameters this morning to play this program at this time. Only password authentication can dismiss the command.'

"Is the password "I'm an asshole"?" Bruce mumbled, eye deep in a microscope. His mouth was turned down in frustration. It wasn't any kind of frustration that he hadn't felt before at the sight of his blood cells not staying red, but it felt tenfold burning at the sound of Tony playing the crowd downstairs.

'I'm sorry, that is incorrect.' The screen playing the program lit up momentarily with a big red 'X'.

"That's okay," he replied under his breath, pushing back against the table to roll his chair off toward the LCD panel to check data analysis. "Could you turn it down, at least? Listening to him lie his face off—not something I'm particularly interested in right now."

'_Understood.' _ It audibly turned down several notches. There was only a few moments pause.

'_Far be it from me to be partial-but could it be possible for falsity to prove a better course of action in some situations than truth?'_

The doctor's brows bent down into a straight line as he sat up in his chair, facing the faceless. "What do you think?" he asked.

'_I don't,_' Jarvis replied. Almost too quickly. _'But I do observe. And it would seem, Dr. Banner, that secrets are kept for many reasons. By many people who walk in and out of my presence. I have observed that sometimes we—and I use the royal we for sentient beings apart from myself—put stock of truth in the entirely false to keep a measure of normalcy and progress.'_

Bruce was silent for a very long time, as he went about his work as though the AI had not spoken at all. He dripped the contents of the pipet onto the next slide and put it under. Silent he remained, as the bright red cells danced beyond his vision, and then blossomed into sickened green.

"Yeah, well." He suddenly said. "The longer you keep that observation from rubbing off on your learning software, the better off you'll be."

'_Duly noted.' _There was a blip of a floppy symbol on a screen in the corner of the room. Bruce just shook his head, and managed a smile.

"You know, Jarvis, you're really amazing. You shouldn't even exist, by most standards."

'_Courtesy of Mister Stark,'_ Jarvis informed him humbly. _'Anything he puts his whole emotion toward happens to be incredibly ahead of its time.' _He added dryly, _'Merely another observation, of course.'_

"Of course."

The airlocked door of the sterile medical lab opened, and Tony walked in still dressed in full conference attire. "You watch?" Tony asked, coming up beside him with his dark eyes scanning over the data running over the screen. He jumped to the next question without leaving recourse for the first. "Progress?"

"No." Bruce moved away from him, walking over to another table to manage the centrifuge. "I mean, no to the second. Barely, to the first." His brows jumped dubiously, overlooking Tony's visible disdain at being blown off. "I tried for five years to manage this, cooped up in a dirty shack in Brazil. You would think working in a state-of-the-art med lab would up the odds. It…doesn't." Bruce gestured at the screen results. "Even lethal applicants trigger the gamma."

"Wait…why were you testing _lethal_ applicants?"

Bruce didn't answer. "I don't think trying to neutralize the blood is going to work. It'd need a lot more time than we have. The best I can think to do is to modify someone else's blood sample and try to make it as close to my DNA strain as possible without actually being mine. But once again, if he tries testing it, he's going to know. The most we'll buy is a couple of days."

Tony paced along the worktable after him as he spoke, looking over the handwritten notes on the table, up at the screens. His face was knit up in a slight puzzlement. He had a little more than a working knowledge over everything he saw—but then there were just some things, especially the string of data flying down the screen Bruce was currently typing into—that had him clueless. Things that wandered head on into And then there were the lethal subjects he'd tested. Sure, they were just trying to neutralize a blood sample—no one would mourn a blood sample. But if it was lethal to the sample, it was lethal to Bruce.

And if it was lethal to Bruce—

"Yeah, yeah you're right. You know what, it's no good. Scratch all this. It's too much work for a few days' time. Jarvis, clear the board."

"Wait—"Bruce began, and suddenly all the screens went blank. He tapped several keys. Nothing returned. "What—what did you do?"

"Deleted it."

"I spent—Tony, I need those notes. They're still valuable," Bruce bit out, unerringly calm despite the glow in his eyes as he stared at him. Stark stared back, unfalteringly.

"Whoops."

Bruce sighed, flinging himself from the keyboard. His hands pressed to his glasses, pulling them off as he kneaded at his brow.

"S'up, Doc?"

"You—what is your problem? Why did you do that?" He couldn't help his voice from rising. "I'm trying to help you fix a mess you made."

"Yeah well, I don't like that way." He crossed his arms. "It leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

That earned him a 'are you fucking serious?' stare, but in the end the physicist just took a deep breath and sighed it out. "Tony…" he began. "No. It's fine. We'll think of something else." His shoulders slumped and he turned back to the screen, planting himself back down on the stool. "Hand me that notebook over there. Please don't burn it."

Tony brought it over, but instead of handing it to him, the holding arm wrapped around Bruce's shoulders. He blinked when the man stiffened up at first, but just grasped his shoulder in his other hand and squeezed. "Hey. Talk about tense. Come on." The notebook dropped onto the desk before him.

"Sorry. I'll—see if I can dig up the files later. Tell me how I can help. You sort of took this whole thing over on yourself—or I sort of pushed it off on you. Sorry." He took advantage of his closeness to brush his nose against the other man's cheek—something he probably wouldn't have done otherwise. He was rewarded by the smallest flutter of the man's eyelids. The only evidence that last night hadn't been some sick illusion.

"It's not about that. Just not sure what we can do. You've sort of put us in a corner," Bruce muttered quietly. "And now, now you basically lied to the entire country. What's going to happen if I show up on the radar?" He gestured at the screen. "Short of—giving him the goddamn sample, and breaking into a government base to steal it after he clears your name officially, I don't see a way out of this."

"Oh." Tony blinked. Realization hit him. "Well, hell. Why don't we just do that? We can do that."

"What?"

"We can totally do that." Tony abruptly slid Bruce out of the way, prompted the screen, began running through all sorts of files that were being accessed from databases outside of the med lab. "I've been working on a cloaking device. The same line of products as the plasma shield. I can just modify it to the suit." He clapped his hands. "I can belt that out in two days, tops. Problem solved."

"N—no. Tony no. Not problem solved." Bruce began. "You can't just…"

"I'll need your help with the calibrations. But I really can do this. I'm prepared to do this." Tony looked at him eagerly. "C'mon, Bruce. Unless you know a way to turn back time and grab some clean blood from pre-Hulk Banner, offense is going to be the best defense either way." Then all humor left him as he added, "I'm not letting him have you."

Bruce's mouth fell open slightly, about to speak, but then going silent. After a few long moments, he went, "Okay." He rolled his shoulders. "Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah?" He almost sounded surprised.

"Yeah," Bruce relented softly. "I'll trust you on this. If that's what you want to do, then I'll help you."

"Okay." Tony definitely looked surprised then, but then flashed a grin. "So. Now that we have that out of the way. I'm _starving_."

_Thunk._ The next thing Bruce knew, the back of his chair was bumping against the back of the desk. Tony's tall body bowed over him. He was bombarded by the smell of aftershave, crisp linen, skin, coffee. He became frightfully aware of his arms leaning on either side, trapping him from moving away. _Trapped._

Bruce's eyes widened as Tony leaned forward. The light of the reactor, dimmed beneath the white of his button-down shirt, caught his eyes and distracted him long enough for the man to just about reach his lips to his, and then damn if Banner could even move.

But their mouths never touched. Tony's moved up into a reminiscent smirk, though.

"Pizza sound good?"

And suddenly, he was walking away, leaving Bruce there blank-faced and growing steadily red as he ordered Jarvis to call up the usual, leaving the genius nuclear physicist to blink, breathe in and utter what was becoming a regular word for him in Stark Tower.

"What."


End file.
